


Dreamcatcher

by emeraldine087



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dream Sex, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Secret Crush, Sloooooooooooow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldine087/pseuds/emeraldine087
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort has been defeated but Harry Potter still sports scars in the form of morbid dreams. He decides to take his friends' advice and purchases a dreamcatcher to get rid of these nightmares of dying and death. Little does he know that it's bound to cause more problems than it solves.</p><p>Draco Malfoy is plagued by dreams of Harry Potter--very. Disturbing. Potter. Dreams. He wants to be free of these perverse dreams that are always different and yet always the same. But not until his subconscious throws him for a loop one more time.</p><p>**Written after HBP and before DH. Not DH-epilogue compliant--AT ALL. Also posted on Fanfiction.Net and Potter Slash Archive</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm new in Ao3 but I'm an FF.net veteran. I thought of starting a life here in this community by posting one of my favorite stories that I really enjoyed writing. It's only quite recently that I've decided to start a collection of Drarry stories with this as the first part. Note, though, that the stories can be read independently of the others. 
> 
> I enjoyed the comments/reviews posted on FF.net very much and I must say I have developed a liking for them. So please, let me know what you think--I want to feel your love, your hate, your displeasure.
> 
> I'm in the middle of writing the second part of this collection, and it's entitled DENIZEN. I will be posting the chapters on that I've done so far as well as gurding my loins to produce the remainder. And I need the encouragement and the vote of confidence (wink wink), so Imma really need those comments, kudos and virtual cookies and muffins you may want to send my way.
> 
> As set forth in the summary, this is the same DREAMCATCHER that is posted over on FF.net and PSA but I'm still ever in the process of re-reading it to keep editing it. This was initially beta'ed by VesperAgain over on FF.net and I remain ever in her debt.

A blade glinted from above, suspended in midair by thick ropes. He grunted in effort to free his hands from the strings cutting through his wrists, but it was futile. The guillotine blade was threateningly quivering and a strong wind was blowing over the desolate and barren fields. There was someone behind him; he knew who it was. He’d been seeing this over and over, in different settings, different times but somehow he always managed to wake up in cold sweat before he could see how it ended. The wind blew more furiously. And the guillotine ropes trembled. Cold enveloped his whole body. _I want to see how it ends this time. Voldemort is dead… I’d like to believe that he is, but why do the dreams go on?_ He was fumbling behind his back to loosen the knots of the strings that bound him to his nightmare. His skin felt raw but the strings were still grinding his wrists tighter than ever.

The ropes were released and he heard the distinct sound of a blade falling, cutting through the air towards his neck and he screamed. He couldn’t hear himself above the din of the turbulent winds and the whooshing of a blade ready for the kill.

Harry Potter awoke to the thundering of his own heart and the coldness of his own sweat. He knew he had been screaming. Hands clammy and limbs trembling, he turned the lamp beside his bed on. Neville was looking at him from a couple of feet away, wide-eyed and uncertain. “Have you had another nightmare, Harry?”

Harry held his knees close to his chest and buried his sweaty face on the crook of his legs. Why haven’t the nightmares stopped?

“It was so scary, Neville. I was about to be beheaded by a guillotine and I was screaming and…and I don’t know why the dreams haven’t stopped.” He had never been more afraid and disoriented. His heart was still hammering against his chest, his breathing shallow and laborious.

“You should talk to the Headmistress about what’s been happening to you. I, for one, am getting so worried. You haven’t gotten a single, peaceful, dreamless night for a couple of weeks now. It might be serious.”

Harry combed his hands through his hair, wet with perspiration and squeezed. His temples were throbbing, but he had learned to ignore it. He had gotten used to it. Sniffing, Harry brought a hand to cover his mouth. _He’s still alive… Voldemort is still alive. I’m still having terrible dreams because he’s still alive._ And he started biting his cuticles.

Neville had already fallen asleep. There was just no point trying to make him more worried than he already was. Harry just felt so tired, but he dared not go to sleep again in fear that in the next one, he wouldn’t be so lucky as to wake again.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

It was always a different dream. Night after night.

And yet it was always the same. He’d always wake breathless and he’d always wake with anger. How could his dreams be invaded like a disease that was eating through his unconscious? The dreams that had always involved one person. And somehow, the way every dream would end up was always the same. He’d always wake up, half-wishing that what he had dreamed of was a joke—a joke and yet… he’d always go back to sleep after every dream, half-hoping it’d be there to haunt him again. And when sleep would manage to elude him, he’d be awake until morning, in silent reverie, relishing the feel of the smooth hands on his skin and the soft ‘I love you’ in his ear.

He had never tried controlling his dreams. Because if he had known himself to be capable of doing so, he wouldn’t think twice about altering his dreams—the dreams that were always different and yet always the same, would always end the same way and would always leave him wanting for more and abhorring that he even had it in the first place.

The cave would still be dark even after he’d seen it over and over; the pond of crystal clear water under a blanket of falling stars would still be as picture-perfect as he had last seen it; the violent and refreshing stream would still have water in furious rampage and eternal flow; the mesa of thick, green grass and rose petals with the picturesque horizon of twinkling stars against the azure sky and the gleaming white, horse tethered to the bare tree trunk would always look as magical as if he was seeing it for the first time one dream after another; the dingy and dark room of peeling gray wallpaper amidst the rain shower and brilliant flashes of lightning in contrast to the darkness of the night would still look as dingy and dilapidated; the magnificent acacia with a rickety swing on a hilltop overlooking the most gorgeous sunset would never turn anything short of magnificent; and the cozy and comfortable tent in the wide expanse of bare brown earth that smelled of tangy firewood would always pose the same coziness no matter how much of the same dream he had already seen.

Draco Malfoy had always had these dreams: one and the same and yet different. And in every one of them Harry Potter would always be present.

So this night didn’t have to be an exception.

The mesa carpeted with thick, green grass was strewn with white and red rose petals as always. The horse was silent but the stars were in their eternal song of seemingly infinite life and radiance. Two people were on the mesa, moving their bodies in the timeless rhythm of love and passion. Their naked bodies were being bathed in the glorious, milky white of the millions of stars witnessing their bodies coming together as one in the rhapsody of making love. Sweat glistened on their pale skin as the beat their bodies were dancing to came to a crescendo. The feeling was all over him as the black-haired phantom moved faster, making him think that this was no dream… it was real. It was too real that the pleasure in the core of his soul, in his groin, in every part and surface of his body was making him ache for the climax that he knew would be inevitable. The whispers and moans were in unison with the wind as it kissed their bare bodies. And orgasm had come in writhing pleasure that left him thirsting for the feel of love and wild lovemaking still present within his body. The warmth, the pain, the pleasure, the yearning were in him as he breathed a deep sigh having attained the orgasm he had become all too familiar with. ‘I love you,’ came the whisper in his right ear that aroused him again like the softest of clouds kissing the lips of the horizon.

And just like every dream, it was then that he woke up… not in the violent, animalistic screams of horror, not even in the chilling lechery of common sexual dreams, but in a calm way of just opening his eyes for darkness to flood his vision and opening his ears for Crabbe’s irritating snores somewhere in the dormitory. He was breathing just as furiously as all of the dreams of the past, but he could say he had grown quite accustomed to the feeling of waking up and realizing that no matter how real it felt, it was just a dream—it would always be. What was different this time was the unmistakable presence of tears that were cascading down the side of his face. He turned on his side and embraced his own body to drive the feeling of desolation and longing.

He had never cried before. He thought he’d have been used to waking up to the emptiness by now. But the memory of the smooth hands, the soft touch, the tearing pain in his insides, the searing passion of kisses, the teasing bites on the neck and earlobes and the throaty but mellifluous ‘I love you’ in his ear were too much for him to bear and let go.

_This has to stop. I have to stop seeing it in my sleep and half-wishing I’d never wake up to reality again. Because it would never be reality._ He bent into fetal position and cried, just cried to dry the tears and suppress the desire to make his dreams real, if not live in the passion of his dreams altogether giving up on life, on reality entirely.

Because what was the use of reality without that which you’d give up reality for? What’s the use of reality if he has to live day in and day out with the knowledge that Harry Potter will never be his?

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“Finally—Hogsmeade weekend!” Ron was energetically folding his covers and quilts messily with a big smile plastered on his face.

“Boy, you look like you slept well,” Dean Thomas, fellow Gryffindor observed, putting on his black socks on his part of the dormitory.

“Y—eah, which is more than I can say for myself. I envy you, Ron,” Harry muttered as he pushed a comb through his wet but still unruly black locks. Neville stopped turning his trunk inside out in search of his hat upon Harry’s confession.

“Don’t tell me you had another one of those dreams again,” Ron anticipated, his sheets thrown aside to lie forgotten for a while.

“It was even much worse last night. I could hear the blade rushing to meet my neck. It’s never been released in my previous dreams but last night was so realistic, I had to check my neck thrice to see whether I would have to join Nick in his clamor to join the Headless Hunt,” Harry joked. Nick, or Nearly Headless Nick, was the Gryffindor ghost with a semi-severed neck.

“That is so not funny, Harry. But you know, we should really do something about those nightmares,” the redhead suggested.

“What do you propose we do, then? Spoon my brains out or take it out through the nose? I don’t think dreams can be controlled—I haven’t tried whether they can be.”

But Ron wasn’t able to answer Harry’s comment anymore. The door burst open and Seamus stuck his head in to tell them that it was time to go.

While in Hogsmeade, Harry was able to momentarily drive the memory of his nightmare aside as they strolled through the common edifices of the Post, Zonko’s, Three Broomsticks and Honeyduke’s. He always enjoyed being in Hogsmeade with his friends because somehow right there, he’d always be able to forget his worries for the time being and enjoy.

Hermione, Ron and Harry stopped in front of a door to a new shop. “Magical Knickknacks,” Harry read. “What do we need from here?” But before Harry’s question could be answered, Hermione pushed him into the store.

“I think this place may have what _you_ need, Harry,” Hermione said, looking meaningfully at Ron.

“What do you mean?”

“For your nightmares.”

“Look, it’s hopeless. There’s nothing that could possib—“

Hermione ran off for a short while but she was back very quickly and pushed a strange net with a handle thingy. “You want me to go fishing?”

“No, this is a dreamcatcher. I think this is what you need.” The net thing was made of thick knitted ropes, intertwined and crisscrossing into a complex web. The middle had a big hole, while the empty space between the hole in the middle and the circumference of the device contained jewels and charms of various shapes and sizes. The handle was of dull black wood, with a practically undecipherable inscription and more carvings and charms. “Prop this on the head board of your bed and it’ll sift through your dreams for you. The hole in the center catches good dreams, see?”

“And the charms on the space outside of the center hole, drive nightmares away,” Ron finished Hermione’s explanation.

Harry narrowed his eyes, “it sounds a bit dodgy to me. And what do you mean by _sift_?”

“You ought to know that our minds are even more open and receptive when we are asleep compared to when we are awake, which makes it open to see various things derived from our worst fears and our greatest desires. These fears and desires are mixed with each other that when your mind sees them, it is unable to sift through that which you want to see and that which you don’t. The dreamcatcher will do that job for you now,” she explained in her matter-of-fact voice.

“Look—there’s nothing to lose if you try it out, mate,” Ron suggested. “Just so we can be less worried of you.”

Harry turned the dreamcatcher and scrutinized it. “OK, OK, I’ll try it out,” Harry said as he pulled out a few coins from his pocket to purchase the dreamcatcher.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I'll post five chapters of DREAMCATCHER today and the prologue and first chapter of DENIZEN just to see how this all goes...
> 
> Please leave a comment or hit that Kudos button and make me feel your love!

“What’s that, Draco?” Crabbe was folding and refolding his socks, eyeing the unusual instrument that his roommate, Draco Malfoy, was propping on his bedside table. “It’s ugly,” he finished.

Draco sneered and shook his head. “And who asked for your opinion, Crabbe?” He aligned the glowing object that looked like a small boulder atop a crooked stick of the ugliest orange, the color of puke.

“You’re actually going to sleep with that hideous thing on your bedside?” Blaise Zabini pointed a finger at the horrifically revolting thing that Draco was lovingly placing on his bedside table as if it belonged there in the first place. “I can’t believe you even own such a disgustingly ugly thing.”

Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest when he had finished placing the thing beside his lamp. “Look, you are not the one who’s going to have to put up with it. Besides, it’s ugly for a reason,” he claimed.

Goyle, who was hunched over a piece of parchment, looked up and grimaced when he saw the thing. “What is that anyway?”

“It’s a Banisher,” Draco replied, sitting down on the edge of his bed and opening the library book he borrowed that morning.

“Oh—a Banisher,” Goyle grinned and nodded, while Blaise snorted.

“Umm, what’s a Banisher?” Goyle asked, dumbfounded and scratching his head.

Draco could’ve fallen dead on the spot. “OK Goyle, if you’re any stupider, you’d not even be able to spell your name. A Banisher is a device to reject recurring dreams,” he exclaimed.

“So what do you need it for? Have you been having dreams lately?” Draco looked at Blaise and weighed whether he should answer the inquiry. He didn’t want to make his friends suspicious of his recent worries because, in the first place, he didn’t have the courage to try to spell everything out for them.

“They’re just dreams, you know—bothersome and irritating. Which is why I decided to purchase the Banisher…to try to get rid of them.”

“What are your dreams about?”

_Too dangerous._

“They’re my dreams, not yours. I don’t see a reason why I should give a blow-by-blow account of them for your listening pleasure,” Draco reasoned. He absent-mindedly turned an unread page on the book and mentally reprimanded himself for risking this much to tell his ordeal to a group of Slytherin nincompoops.

“Well—maybe they’d go away if you tell us all about it,” Crabbe cajoled.

 _Over my dead body…_ “I don’t think so, Crabbe. Why don’t you sleep? Maybe your brain just needs the rest, it’s been working very hard for the whole day.”

“C’mon Draco, don’t be a spoilsport; tell us,” Blaise persuaded.

“The answer is no, Blaise. If you’re so interested in dreams, why don’t you sleep and try to have one of your own?”

There were protests but the dormitory eventually fell silent. Draco was still seated on the edge of his bed, flipping through the book with unseeing eyes. He had started to fear falling asleep because he didn’t want to have the same unexplainable and unbelievable dreams. He knew that buying the Banisher had only been a last resort, a desperate move to try to rid himself of his ‘problem’. He stole a glance at the Banisher casually propped on his bedside table, fervently glowing as if pulsating…beating, thinking on its own.

It was damn ugly. With the hideous wrinkled face of the small rock where bright red stones were engraved; the stick holding it was crooked and unusually orange giving the impression that the boulder was a clump of cheese speared by a twig that looked like someone puked on. The surface was glowing bright yellow and was trying to compete with the only lamp left open.

Draco stifled a yawn and closed the book with a dull thwack. The moment of truth had come. He crawled into bed, heavy-lidded and full of anxiety over what might happen once he closed his eyes. Shifting to lie on his side, Draco turned to look at the Banisher glowing beside his lamp. It looked eerie but he knew that should this work, he’d be free of his dreams forever.

Reaching out to snap the light shut, Draco breathed a sigh of resignation. This was his last hope.

The covers were snugly wrapped over his body. The night embraced his even breathing and the darkness cradled his closed eyes. He welcomed the night, subconsciously wishing that when he woke up, he could rightfully say that he was free.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“So?”

Harry looked at Ron, who was expectantly looking back at Harry as if waiting for the latter to collapse in a pool of his crimson blood.

“So what?” Harry asked, forking two sausages at the same time.

“How was your sleep?” Ron prompted.

Harry poured himself a mug of milk with a bemused expression on his face. He had already anticipated that the moment that he and Ron were alone, the redhead would inquire about his sleeping habits again. Like he had been doing for a week now “It was…OK.”

“Oh come on Harry, drop the act. Did you or did you not have nightmares?”

“I didn’t alright! Is it suddenly your life’s mission to check the way I sleep every morning? It was OK just like the night before last and the night before that and the night before that. It’s been uneventful and peaceful for the whole week; now will you quit it?”

“The dreamcatcher worked, then?”

“Yes, it worked. And I know that I have you and Hermione to thank,” Harry said, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. He was thankful for his friends to have come up with the dreamcatcher idea but…really; it _was_ getting really cumbersome to answer Ron’s survey questions every morning.

“So what are the kinds of dreams you’ve been having lately?”

“Oh, you know, happy dreams, like chasing butterflies and stuff, riding horses along the surf—really calm dreams devoid of knives, green flashes and guillotines,” he described. He brought a forkful of sausage and omelet to his lips and chewed in satisfaction. A good night’s sleep always brought good mornings and delicious appreciation of breakfast.

“Chasing butterflies? Don’t let Seamus hear you talking about your dream of chasing butterflies; you’ll never hear the end of it. Really Harry, don’t you think that’s such a, I don’t know, prissy dream?”

“Call it whatever you like but I’ll not trade a million prissy dreams for another night with that guillotine and I don’t think Seamus will prefer guillotines over butterflies himself,” Harry commented. He swiped stray locks of his black hair away and glanced around the noisy lot of Gryffindors in search of his other roommates, when he noticed that Neville was still unaccounted for. “Where’s Neville? If he doesn’t hurry, he’d be late for Transfiguration again.”

“He’ll be around. You know him—he’s always disoriented and stuff…always in search of something. I mean, for a few weeks you were, too. So _you_ can’t be the one to blame him,” Ron answered, wolfing down his bagels.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Neville rushed around the room in search of his socks. He had almost torn his head off by opening the savage drawer in Ron’s part of the room, when he realized that he had a pair in his trouser pockets.

Then, he was in violent search for his Herbology book next. He was close to tears when he remembered that Harry borrowed it before going to bed the previous night. The book was on Harry’s bedside table. Neville breathed a thankful sigh and grabbed the book. He didn’t expect that a part of Harry’s bed hangings had been caught between the book’s pages that when he grabbed it from the table, the four-poster’s hangings were yanked and the dreamcatcher on Harry’s bedside toppled off where it had been placed. He silently cursed his clumsiness and replaced the dreamcatcher on the bedside table as well as the hangings on Harry’s bed.

The panic and rush overwhelmed Neville so much that he didn’t hear the sound of shards of dreamcatcher charms crunching against the soles of his shoes as he made his way back to his side of the room, having found what he was looking for.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry awoke in cold sweat. _The hell was that?_ His heart was pounding against his chest. Although his dream didn’t involve guillotines, daggers, torture or some such stuff, it was disturbing in its own right.

Because Draco Malfoy was in it.

Harry threw the covers aside, grabbed his glasses from his bedside table and stood up abruptly. He began pacing the expanse of the room in deep thought. How could he have dreamed of that again? It was beginning to be a source of alarm mainly because he’d been having the same dream for three consecutive nights now. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and brought a thumb between his teeth in concentration. _Maybe, I’m just seeing too much of Malfoy lately that now he is in my dreams as well. Or maybe I am being experimented on—hell—maybe Malfoy is playing a cruel joke on me by cursing me to be plagued by such horrible dreams for three nights now. If he is, I’m going to boil him in Bubotuber pus._ If the dreams he had been having were Malfoy’s idea of humor then Harry must have missed the part where it was supposed to be funny.

Dreaming about Malfoy for three consecutive nights would never be classified under funny. Much more when the dreams were kind of…sexual…

Harry took his glasses off and pinched his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. _This might just be due to exhaustion—or—or fatigue…or a deep-seated hate for Malfoy’s guts that now I dream of him, too._ But he thought, if that were the case, why would the dreams be obscene and graphically sexual? He wiped his palm over his sweaty forehead and sat down on his bed again with a soft plop. He could still remember the details as if they really happened. The details were so intricate that he could have sworn everything was real.

The darkness was too real; the smell of the damp moss, and the feel of the cold and smooth stone on his palms and the smell of sex hung about him. The echoes of the groans and moans were still resonating in his ear. But he was cradling the dream in the recesses of his mind like water in his hands—the spooked feeling was returning to calm as he recalled less and less of that horrific nightmare. And twenty minutes into his panic state over having dreamed of Malfoy anew, he had already convinced himself that it was just a horrible, fleeting vision—nothing alarming. But still to have that fleeting vision _thrice_ —

Harry breathed a deep sigh and lay on the bed again, his feet still touching the floor, eyes closed. _What’s happening to me? Why the fuck is Malfoy in my dreams?_ He wanted to wake Ron up and scream like a Banshee that the dreamcatcher had somehow malfunctioned, but he didn’t. If Ron found out that he had been dreaming about Malfoy having sex with him, Ron would throw himself out the window. _Hey, I would, too, if I weren’t too shell-shocked!_  He craned his neck to look at the dreamcatcher propped on his bedside table so innocently. And grunted— _No, it has to be a coincidence. Just a coincidence that I have been dreaming of fucking Malfoy senseless_.

He crawled back to his pillows and threw the covers over his pajama-clad body again. But he didn’t close his eyes to return to sleep. He just stared, point blankly, at the canopy of his bed, his mind swimming with blurred snatches of the dream he couldn’t believe he had.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“I thought you said you don’t have the nightmares anymore,” Ron greeted him at the foot of the stairs, looking stern but mildly worried.

The Gryffindor common room was noisy with loitering students. Some were packing their schoolbags, hastily throwing pieces of parchment and quills they had left on the scattered tables and consoles of the oval room into their bags. Others were leaving through the portrait hole in mad dash to catch some breakfast before classes started for the day. There were half-screams and chatter all over the place that sounded like fingernails on a blackboard for the sleepless Harry, who had just come in looking like a walking corpse.

“You look…” Ron stopped, shaking his head and obviously wracking his brains for the proper word to describe his friend. “…drunk.”

“I’m alright. I was just thinking about too much stuff last night that I had trouble sleeping,” Harry answered. He slung his bag over his head and started for the portrait hole with Ron at his heels.

“You said you stopped having nightmares last week,” his friend interjected.

“I did. The nightmares are gone—I’ve told you at least a dozen times last week that my sleep has never been more peaceful. I didn’t have nightmares last night; I just had trouble sleeping. With the upcoming Quidditch season and all the schoolwork that I had been shirking, you know, the usual stuff.”

Harry swallowed the guilt seeping into his voice. Ron didn’t need to know why he barely slept the night before. But Ron was looking at him so suspiciously that Harry cast his eyes down to look at his shoes. “Are you sure?” Ron asked, quite reproachfully in case Harry had been lying to him.

“Positive.” Harry never noticed how shiny his shoes were until now.

The halls of the school were crawling with students talking and laughing with their friends. Harry was too tired that he bumped on several people on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron had stopped inquiring about his usual state of stupor and concentrated on getting both of them through the throngs of people stampeding to get breakfast as Harry was too brain-dead to even steer clear of the suits of armor; his head was almost axed off by a particularly grumpy one.

By the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry collided with a hard body and was almost thrown off his feet. “Hey watch it, Malfoy!” Ron yelled, breaking Harry’s fall. He was seemingly jerked awake when he heard Ron tell Malfoy off.

“Don’t scream your head off at me, Weasley. It’s not my fault that Potter here looks too drunk to move his ass aside.”

“He’s not drunk. Tell him you’re not drunk, Harry,” Ron urged the black-haired boy to defend himself and answer Malfoy’s usual banter.

“Let’s just go, Ron.” Harry pulled his friend away to head to the Gryffindor table without further words said.

Malfoy’s snorts rang through the Great Hall. “Why Potter, too comatose to think of a comeback?” But Harry didn’t turn back for the usual Gryffindor-Slytherin-Verbal-War-Before-Breakfast; he kept on walking, dragging a livid Ron with him.

“You should have given that prick a piece of your mind, Harry!”

“I should have, Ron, but sadly I need all of my wits today to keep in mind that it is physically impossible to sleep while standing up without breaking my jaw. But I’ll put that as one of my agenda for tomorrow: Get better sleep to verbally insult Malfoy even before breakfast begins. Just forget it,” Harry spat. “He’s an asshole and even if I stomp back there to give him some words, it’s not going to make much of a difference.”

Harry’s brain was too frazzled to start functioning normally and the images of last night’s dream were adding to his aggravation. He could still feel Malfoy’s hands on his neck and the damp air on his bare back. Although, most of his recollections of the dream were gone, he couldn’t erase the fact that he had dreamt of Malfoy in a way he’d rather shoot himself first than accept.

“But it’s still uncharacteristic of you to just leave the last word for that piece of shit,” Ron was speaking again.

 _I know, but I just can’t look at Malfoy with everything that has been going on with me._ Ron, of course, was the very last person he’d confide in about _that_. “I am in Torpor land too much to offer anything remotely sarcastic in our defense. There’s still another Verbal War; there always is—and then we’d drop the heavy artillery. I just have to wake my brain up, _OK_? But if you really can’t bear it, you can come up to him again and scream your best insult.”

Harry sat down on an empty chair facing the Slytherin table and Ron followed suit on the vacant chair beside Harry’s. Animated conversation easily took Ron away, leaving Harry to nurse his milk glass and his bacon in sleepy silence.

The black-haired boy was nearly asleep on the table when he was jerked awake by raucous laughter from the Slytherin table. Harry turned his irritated eyes to Goyle who was laughing scandalously at Zabini’s joke. Harry, shaking his head, was about to join Ron and the other Gryffindors in their conversation when he noticed Malfoy’s gray eyes on him from where he was seated at the noisy Slytherin table. And Harry froze.

There was no hint of a sneer in Malfoy’s eyes. There was no malice there. Or hate. Or envy. Or rudeness. There was just the inscrutability of the gray eyes and the normalcy of two common people looking at each other like it was just the natural thing to do. Harry mustered his control not to blink, and Malfoy, from a couple of yards away, was doing the same. They were holding each other’s gazes in a platonic manner that roused so many questions in Harry’s mind. And so many riddles. Harry put the milk glass to his lips and sipped some without leaving Malfoy’s steely gaze. Why he was holding on to the glaring game with Malfoy, he didn’t know.

But Malfoy, with scarlet-hinted cheeks, was first to avert his gaze. And Harry, too, turned away.

 _What was that all about?_ The gaze had felt like something he wasn’t prepared for. It felt like something he never knew. About Malfoy. And about himself.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

It was a hot evening, that though the cooling charm was on, he couldn’t help but thrash in his bed, uncomfortably. He wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t even sure if he was awake or asleep. But he was being haunted.

By a certain pair of green eyes.

He wasn’t expecting Harry to look back at him. Even though Harry’s eyes were unfathomable, he still lavished in the fact that Harry looked at him for as long as he had. It certainly wasn’t something that happened every day. The fights and the insults were common, but it was only a façade on his part.

There were certain things about himself that he was sure of—like envying Harry, wanting to outdo him and humiliate him, expose him to be the imperfect human that he was. And yet there were some things he was not—like the old dreams… the dreams that were always different and yet always the same.

He had stopped having those dreams, thanks to the Banisher, and he was successful at driving them out of conscious memory. But he couldn’t stop himself from being affected by Harry’s gaze nonetheless.

He was at the border of sleep and wakefulness, swimming in emerald seas and drowning in uncertainty. _I chose to hate him. I am free of the dreams forever._

Thrashing, he elbowed the wooden bedside table with a hard thud. The pain was pulsating through him, but he didn’t open his eyes to nurse the ache. He was asleep and yet awake. Alive yet dead.

But the noises were later on pacified as peace engulfed his body. His mind had crossed the border into dreamless slumber.

He was too asleep even to hear the Banisher slowly slide from its being propped on the bedside table and crash to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

_Where am I?_

Harry’s feet thudded softly against the dusty, gravel-strewn path while his eyes were looking around the bare dirt road. The brightness of the noon sun made him blink repeatedly, in effort to adjust his eyes. The dust rose in clouds as his feet padded through the bare brown earth. Harry raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sun and twisted around to survey the desolate lands he had found himself in. _How did I get here?_ He looked down and saw that he was in simple jeans and a short-sleeved, light green shirt beneath his black Hogwarts robes. His shoes were covered with brown filth as if he had been walking for days already.

 _Where am I?_ That time the question rang in his mind without a single coherent answer. All he could remember was he had been asleep…

And now he was here in the middle of goodness-knows-where.

 _I’m dreaming… This is a dream…_ But the sweat that trickled down the nape of his neck was too real that he stopped in mid-stride to wipe his dripping neck.  It was too real to be a dream. The heat was real… the sun burning his scalp was real. “Shit,” he moaned. Raking a hand through his black hair, Harry went on walking mindlessly to nowhere. Dust-carrying wind rose from behind him. He turned around to see endless streets as far as the eye could see, swimming in dancing heat waves and dry dust. He muttered another swear word and kept on walking onwards with his hand firmly lodged on his forehead to keep out the glare of the sun.

Feeling thirsty all of a sudden, Harry halted and looked around half-hoping to find a clean brook where he can drink. But the dead grass on the side of the dirt road were four feet tall on dry, cracked soil, cradling nothing but big boulders and deep, dry chasms without a single drop of water.

He tried to ignore the exhaustion coupled with thirst and kept on walking through the desolate thoroughfare in solitude and deep confusion as to why he was there in the first place.

“Potter?” Harry abruptly turned to see who had called him and found a flabbergasted and equally confused Malfoy emerging from a clump of tangled weeds, which was blocking a side road that looked even more barren and foreboding than the one he was traversing.

 _What the hell is this place?_ Harry could feel something sinister in the sudden appearance of Malfoy as if things couldn’t get any worse.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?” Malfoy peeled off the collar of his robes that had stuck to the back of his head that was tinged pink already because of the intense heat.

Harry kept on walking, pointedly brushing off the other boy’s inquiry.

“Why are you in my dream?” Malfoy started panting. Like a thirsty, once-pampered dog gone to seed.

“So that’s what this is! Boy, Malfoy, you have one fucked up dream—“

“Well, obviously, this is not mine if you’re in it,” the blonde Slytherin retorted. He had started following Harry through the dirt road.

“Stop following me, Malfoy,” Harry warned, finally noticing Malfoy following him down the path.

“I’m not following you. I’m just taking the same route. What the devil gave you the idea that I’d even want to be near you?”

Harry rolled his eyes and kept his focus on the path ahead to stop the irritation bubbling at the back of his mind as Malfoy’s designer shoes trotted a couple of paces behind him. If it was even possible, the sun burned hotter on his scalp, burning his hair when Malfoy had joined the journey.

“Your presence is making the situation a lot worse, Malfoy; I think you ought to know.”

“Now, I definitely know this is not my dream,” Malfoy interjected again. “I’m not about masochism and burning myself to oblivion.”

“Who asked for your opinion? Look, Malfoy, you can just make this easy for both of us and drop dead,” Harry commented, feeling his patience ebb away like his sanity over lack of fluids.

“You know the way out of this, right?” Malfoy still had the gall to ask.

“This is _your_ dream; why are you asking me that? And besides, if I do know the way out, I’d have taken it already to ditch you.”

“This is not my dream. It’s got to be yours,” Malfoy vehemently denied again.

“I wouldn’t have a dream with _you_ in it unless it involves whips, cyclone wires, guillotines and generally a lot of your screaming for mercy. So don’t get the idea.”

Harry quickened his steps to put a considerable amount of distance between him and Malfoy. Silence followed the verbal war with exhaustion taking its toll. The raven-haired Gryffindor pulled his robes’ sleeves to his shoulders and wiped the glistening sweat from his smooth, tanned arms. Every step in the dusty and forsaken highway took him closer and closer to doubting whether it was really just a dream and not reality.

“Where are you going if you don’t know the way out?”

 _As far away from you as humanly possible…_ “None of your business, though it would be genuinely appreciated if you could jump off the nearest cliff and leave me be.”

“I would have done that but unfortunately for you I have no intentions of getting lost. I personally think we should stick together. Sooner or later you’re going to get out and isn’t it just proper for me to be right behind you when that happens?” Malfoy was smug.

Harry ignored the smugness with a deep calming breath and swiped his hair off his eyes and kept on walking, muttering under his breath and fingering his robes pockets for his wand to curse Malfoy before the latter could take a step closer.

“C’mon Potter, walking with you until we get out of this twisted dream of yours is not going to kill you or ruin your reputation by associating with Slytherins. Rest assured that I wouldn’t be boasting about it to my housemates when I wake up.”

If _you wake up, you sod…_

Now wouldn’t that be a fine day indeed when Malfoy dies in his sleep? Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the Gryffindors, would celebrate it as an official holiday.

Harry had already given up searching for his wand as they walked further; Malfoy, himself, must also be getting tired since he had stopped talking as well. The circumstances as to why _both_ of them were there entered Harry’s thoughts again. He could still remember snatches of the past dreams he had had about Malfoy and he could feel deeper misgivings regarding their present predicament. _This can’t be good…_

They must have walked for hours but Harry didn’t have the means to know for sure. His wristwatch had gone dead; its frozen hands unmoving at eleven forty-five, whether it was morning or midnight in the real world, he didn’t know. The sun was stubborn above their heads that Harry could’ve sworn it had stopped moving as well.

“When is that wretched sun going to set?” An angry and obviously tired voice piped up from behind him.

Harry turned slightly around to see a haggard-looking Malfoy just about dragging his feet to keep up with the former. “Stop following me, Malfoy,” Harry irritably groaned, but the other boy was unfazed. He even quickened his step to follow Harry’s lead.

“If there is another option for me to go to, I would have taken it. Look around you, Potter—does it look like I have much of a choice?” Harry moaned, inwardly cursing his rotten fate to be stuck in the ends of nowhere with a prick like Malfoy. He bent down to grab a small pebble and threw it carelessly behind him, half-hoping that Malfoy would get the idea that Harry would much rather end up as vulture main course than walk one more step with the revolting prince of Slytherin.

“Ow! OK, you are asking for it, scarhead!” Malfoy threatened from behind him after taking a direct hit. He was stomping angrily towards his black-haired companion. But Harry just held up a hand and narrowed his eyes at the reaction that he got from the other boy.

“You mean to say that that hurt?”

“Well, I think it’s logical to hurt after being hit by a pebble, Potter, or have you completely derailed from sanity?”

“But this is a dream, right? Regardless of whose dream this is, this is still _a dream_. Don’t you think it’s strange that we can feel pain, thirst and heat in a _dream_?”

Malfoy froze as comprehension dawned on him. The heat of the interminable noon sun baked the two boys even more and coarse winds blew from their right sending clouds of prickly earth over their sweaty and exhausted bodies. Lonely tumbleweed rolled through the asphalt road the two had been walking through. “Are you telling me that this is real?”

“What else could be the reason why we are practically dying of thirst and malnourishment here?”

Malfoy roamed his eyes over the endless fields of dry foliage beside the long dusty thoroughfare and choked up. “That can’t be; I was asleep and there’s no way I’d get here when I don’t even know where _here_ is.” Malfoy swiped a hand through his tangled and dusty blonde head and shamelessly plopped down in the middle of the dirt road.

“Right, you can just sit there and pray that a big bulldozer will come and drag you away towards the exit,” Harry scoffed, started walking again to leave Malfoy who was still plopped down on the coarse brown earth being scorched by the sun.

“I don’t get it,” Malfoy stood up and ran after the exasperated Harry. “How did we end up being stuck here together?”

“Beats me.”

“If this dream is not a dream at all but is real, then that means we have to find a waterhole soon or we’ll die of thirst!” Malfoy hollered, panic-stricken.

“I don’t know if there’s even anything here other than dead grass. We have to keep on walking and we might get lucky and chance upon the exit,” Harry answered. Right then, he didn’t have any other solution as to their dilemma but hope for the best that they wouldn’t die in the middle of nowhere and end up as soil fertilizer.

“The exit wouldn’t happen to be a big black door with a glowing sign above it that screams EXIT, now, would it? So much for Gryffindor optimism.”

“Oh how I wish there is another animal out here that you can aggravate other than myself,” Harry exasperatedly said with a low groan.

They walked a couple more yards before Malfoy finally lost it, collapsed again and yelled, “fuck this! I’m not walking another step with you without water!”

Harry shook his head and cursed under his breath as well. “Look here, Malfoy—we don’t have to get to so much trouble here if you can just backtrack and find water yourself and stop annoying me.”

“I am so tired; I can’t walk a step farther. I need water,” he begged.

“Something we don’t have at the moment. Why don’t you go find a nice sharp rock, slash your wrists and drink your blood and luckily you’ll die of hemorrhage after and save us both the trouble? At the very least, I can go on—your sacrifice will be well worth it,” Harry sarcastically spat.

“Very amusing, Potter.” But Malfoy had transformed into the wasted, exhausted and unglamorous version of his former self that Harry rather found quite alarming.

He breathed a deep sigh and backtracked a few paces to help the revolting boy even against his sane reasoning.

If they were going to survive, they have to work together to have the teeniest chance to find their way out. He surveyed the desolate lands, with his hands shielding his eyes from the bright glare of the cruel sun. An outcropping concealing a darkened fissure about thirty yards off the main, dusty highway caught his eye.

“There’s something there—“

“Oh please tell me it’s Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor,” Malfoy groaned, nearly incoherently.

“Nope, too bad… I think it’s a cave.” Harry helped Malfoy up from the latter’s position of practically kissing the soil, with the littlest possible contact with the other boy’s baked and sweaty skin. “Let’s go; right now—it’s our only escape out of this relentless heat at least until we figure out how to stay alive in this godforsaken nightmare.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Why do we have to stay here?”

“If you’d rather roast under the sweltering sun, be my guest,” Harry replied, a tad irritated. He sat down on the rather slippery and moss-covered cave walls, glad to escape the unrelenting midday sun. Draco, whose hair was firmly pasted to the top of his head, followed suit even with his misgivings over the black hole darkness of the deeper part of the cave away from the mouth where light was still touching stone.

“Why don’t we just keep walking and maybe we’ll be able to find water?”

Harry shook his head and snickered; “Listen to the one who had already started dragging his feet in effort to keep up, complaining like a sissy. Don’t make me laugh, Malfoy. You know full well that had you kept on going, you wouldn’t have remained standing for another three seconds under that sun.”

Draco leaned his back on the cold wall of the cave and closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. Harry, on the other hand, folded his knees in front of his chest and buried his face between his legs. Draco’s murmurs sounded like persistent buzzing, bouncing off the walls of the cave, but Harry just let his complaints die in his throat. Being with Malfoy in this hell of a place most appropriately designated as nowhere was no laughing matter anymore. That sun outside was too serious to be laughed about and Draco’s buzzing was certainly the least of Harry’s worries. He closed his eyes and forced himself to rest but the alarm was starting to become a penetrating disease.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Draco softly asked, more likely directed at himself than at Harry.

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t have a clue. “You know, I think that we should turn our attention to more pressing problems like how to stay alive in this place long enough to find a way to get out,” the black-haired Gryffindor exclaimed.

“I can’t die here,” Draco groaned back that Harry had to really fight off the strongest urge to slam Malfoy’s face on the cave wall.

“Yeah that would be awful; imagine having to bury your dead body here when I don’t even know where _here_ is. I’m sure it’ll just _kill_ you to have an unmarked, _unstylish_ grave,” Harry scoffed. He would’ve strangled Malfoy only too happily.

“Of all people to get stuck in nowhere land with, it had to be you,” Draco sarcastically retorted as if being with Harry was the bigger problem than staying alive.

“Rest assured that I never asked for this as well. Don’t act as if it is your misfortune to be here because believe me, the worst end went to me.”

_Well, at least we didn’t get stuck in some parallel universe. Malfoy hates me and I hate him. It is nice to note that even in our dreams we take our house pride with us and bicker endlessly…_

With exhaustion, hunger and thirst taking their toll, the two boys stopped bickering and stayed as far away from each other within the shade and dankness of the cave for what seemed like hours until Malfoy stood up and stretched his arms over his head near the mouth of the cave. “Haven’t you seen this place before?” Harry mouthed from his area of the cave after the long hours of silence.

Draco must have thought that Harry was asleep that the question sort of threw him off guard. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because it’s your dream.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You said so yourself at the dirt road. You must have, at the very least, a faint clue as to where we are,” Harry reasoned. Draco fell silent but his eyes were guardedly roaming the expanse of the dark cave.

Something about the cave looked familiar as if he’d been there before but he just chose to let it slip from memory. “No, I haven’t seen this place before.”

Harry stood up and dusted off his back when Draco stuck his head out to see if the sun had set already. “I don’t believe it. The sun didn’t budge at all! It—“ But Draco froze in his statement that Harry turned to see if the other boy had collapsed or dropped dead due to shock.

Draco was just standing there, mouth wide open, looking as if he has just discovered the key to get to the Snitch first in a Quidditch match and win over Harry for the first time in seven years. “What’s wrong?” Harry went out of the cave leaving an open-mouthed Draco rooted to the spot to discover that indeed the sun hadn’t budged from its stubborn place right smack in the middle of the cloudless sky.

He re-entered the cave with a worried look but Draco was still there, unmoving, glassy-eyed. “OK Malfoy, quit the jokes because we have to keep moving. That sun is not going to set and we might as well sit here forever in anticipation.”

“Trees…”

Harry turned around and saw the object of Malfoy’s shock. A clump of tall trees, a mixture of palm, Indian and coconut trees, shooting towards the firmament like skyscrapers, were jutting out of the dried clumps of tall grass. With narrowed eyes, the Gryffindor awarded an OK-you-are-mental look to Draco.

“Coconut trees—,” Malfoy was nearly incoherent.

Harry snorted in disgust, “I know, you are an indoor kind of person, but really—don’t you think this is too much? Please tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve actually seen a coconut tree.”

“No you idiot! Coconut trees! Coconut trees! Don’t you get it?” Draco had started flailing is arms about in excitement as if the coconut tree had spoken to solve all of their problems.

“Actually, um, let me think…No! The hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?”

“Coconut trees! Theyhavethatwhitestuffinsidethatyoucaneatandtheyhavecoconut _water_! All we have to do is go there, climb the tree and we’re saved!”

Harry, meanwhile, was so confused that his face was crumpled in bewilderment. “You lost me somewhere…”

But Draco was determined; he marched away from the cave with a confused and apprehensive Harry at his heels, “I don’t have time to make you understand!”

The hard, rocky, uneven ground was riddled with sharp, protruding stones that Harry fought through the uneven ground and the tangled shrubbery to keep up with Malfoy. The trees were at the foot of the mountain, slightly elevated from the graveled ground of the dried grass. The mountain itself looked like a quarry site: barren, eroded and foreboding. Harry looked around in his disoriented state as to why he was even following Malfoy to the edge of nowhere and hurried after the latter, who was purposefully scuttling away.

“Alright Malfoy, what the hell is this all about?” Harry swiped tall, dried grass aside, half-sprinting to catch up, but failing because he kept on stumbling into deep, but thankfully dry, potholes along the way.

“The coconut trees have water in them!” Malfoy had seemingly found reinvigoration for their dismal predicament.

But when they found themselves at the foot of the mountain, looking up at the fifteen-foot high trees, Harry finally found the voice to gloat. “Well, it was a good idea when you were fifty yards away from them and they looked no taller than a pea plant. But they look short enough—give or take, what, two, three inches…”

But Malfoy was bent on showing Harry that his idea was a good one. He bunched up his robes’ sleeves and prepared to climb. “OK give me a boost,” Malfoy commanded.

But Harry grimaced and snorted. “This was your brilliant idea. I’m sure you’d be fine by yourself, wave to me from the top, OK?” Thumbs up.

“Hah! I can climb this without your help.”

“May the force be with you.”

Draco heaved himself up the thick bark of the coconut tree with an uproarious grunt while Harry comfortably settled some four yards from the foot of the tree, his arms across his chest with a sarcastic smile pasted on his lips. He watched in amusement that for the next hour or so, Malfoy was shelling out huge efforts to crawl up the fifteen-foot tree, without much of a progress. “You know, I reckon you could reach the top sometime next year at the rate you’re going. Three inches off the ground in an hour is quite the achievement, Malfoy.”

“You can gloat but when I get that coconut and drink my fill, I doubt you will have any energy at all to start begging for me to give you a few drops.”

“Can’t wait. Practically pissing my pants in excitement here…four inches below.”

Harry could’ve died laughing but he just sat there shaking his head in disbelief at the so-called brilliant plan. Malfoy was huffing and puffing, cursing, and clawing his fingernails and custom-made shoes to grab tighter hold of the tree trunk and boost himself up. After what seemed like forever, Malfoy found himself three feet from the top, sweating profusely and nearly dying of fatigue. “Oh I can almost taste the coconut juice and, guess what, Potter—I’m not going to give you any!”

“You are truly an interesting creature, Malfoy. Hey—don’t want to have to beg you to share your blessings especially when it took you almost the whole day to get one coconut. Your dear father will be so proud.”

When Malfoy finally reached his coconut, he pried it with a sharp yank from the tree and bit the stem between his teeth. With his gloating smile, he slid down the trunk and laid the fruit on the ground with a triumphant laugh. “I am a genius! I am a sage! I will drink my fill of the water of life while you wither away in front of me. No, Potter—there’s no need for your applause or your worship. Everybody already knows that I am a friggin’ genius!”

“One question, genius: How are you going to open that coconut?”

Draco froze in realization, but recovered with his usual Draco Malfoy hot air. “I’ll find a way.”

“Sure you will,” Harry declared with a stifled laugh.

Draco slumped on the hot ground and started pounding the coconut face with a sharp rock, but it was futile. Soon enough he had tried whacking it with a sharp branch, slamming it to a tree trunk, pounding it with his bare hands and running head-on towards a tree trunk with the coconut in hand.

“Praying over it might work,” Harry suggested, sarcastically.

“If only I had my wand, this would be a cinch,” Draco screamed, almost tearing his hair off his head.

“But you don’t. Too bad.” Malfoy had begun throwing the coconut with all his might to crash against a sharp protruding rock when Harry heard rustling behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw an antelope and what looked like an armadillo, walking in a line forging through the dried fields. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes. He felt a tugging in his stomach that he should follow the animals, and so without further insult to the struggling Draco, he stood up and broke off in a frantic run to catch up with the animals.

“Hey! Hey Potter! Where are you going?”

Rustling came from behind as he ran through the dried foliage swiping the grass aside, with Draco running behind him calling for him to stop.

“Unlike your brilliant idea, Malfoy, this could actually work! I have no time to watch you wrestle with a coconut,” Harry hollered. His feet pounded against the hard, gravel-strewn soil, hands frantically pushing tall grass aside. There was a clearing ahead, he could see it through the thicket.

“It’s not like you can actually lead us to a place with water—“

But Draco’s voice died in his throat as the last thicket was swiped aside. He was standing in front of a clear waterhole with floating lilies on top and white pebbles on its banks. Harry grinned. “You were saying?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have already made their presence known! I really am starting to enjoy the Ao3 welcome.
> 
> I am ever in the mission of perfecting this story so I try to re-read it every once in a while so please join me in that mission and kindly point out any mistakes, typos, etc. that you find in the story; I would totally appreciate it! 
> 
> On to this next chappie then!

Draco dropped on to his knees, all poise and finesse forgotten and practically buried his head in the waterhole, chugging down mouthfuls after mouthfuls of very precious water. His hard-earned coconut lay forgotten beside him. Harry chuckled in spite of himself and followed Malfoy’s example; he cupped sparkling water in his palms and brought it to his chapped lips. He continued drinking his fill, not minding his companion much until the other boy spoke in ragged breaths, “Thank Merlin for water!”

“So,” Harry began once he had had his fill of the life-saving drink, “Who won in the battle between man and coconut?”

“The coconut,” came the reply with the softest hint of a chortle. Draco wiped his face on the sleeve of his filthy robes and settled down beside the pond, propping his elbow against a moss-covered boulder. Harry was also about to plop down near his blonde companion when the sun above them, suddenly and very quickly, as in a Muggle movie on fast-forward, dropped over the horizon. The cloudless sky shifted from robin’s egg blue to pink-orange to purplish-blue at an alarming rate as the sun sank quickly behind the bare, foreboding mountains in the distance.

“Damn,” Draco mouthed. The sky above was, in a matter of seconds, devoid of the bright glare of the sun that nearly burned their heads off for what felt like forever. “Did you see that?”

Harry was open-mouthed, staring at the other boy’s stunned face. “That was eerie,” the black-haired Gryffindor admitted. Above them, the pinpricks of light just appeared as if they had been burning the firmament for hours already in the night sky. It was both bizarre and a little frightening. Harry shook his head and slumped down by the pond, a few yards away from Draco, so as to avoid the need for polite yet pointless conversation. Considering everything, although he was glad he was not alone, he thought it better to stay as far away as possible without actually losing sight of the blonde. After all, there wasn’t much to say to his Slytherin rival.

“And just like that it is nighttime. Boy, this dream of yours is really fucked-up, Potter,” Draco scoffed, toying with the coconut that he had brought with him.

“Aren’t you going to throw that useless thing away? You can’t even open it.” Harry had obviously grown tired of telling Malfoy that this wasn’t and couldn’t possibly be his dream.

“I worked hard to get this. Why should I throw it away?”

“Because we have no use for it. Oh well—I suppose getting the coconut is quite an achievement especially for someone who has never even lifted a finger to throw his own banana peels,” Harry muttered with a casual wave of his hand.

“Admit it, Potter. It _is_ quite impressive for someone like me who has never tried doing manual labor before to pick this coconut off a fifteen foot high tree without magic and without anyone else’s help.”

Harry persisted in jeering at his companion. “Well—it was such a brilliant plan, Malfoy. Next time you come up with another one, remind me to shoot my head off instead.”

There was terse and tense silence before Draco spoke, quite nervously. “We’re still faced with the bigger problem of trying to get out of this hellhole, though. Do you think the exit is just nearby because I, as sure as hell, wouldn’t want that area-wide quest for water to take place again! I’d never really appreciated water before… until now that I’ve known what it feels like to be properly thirsty almost to the point of dehydration.”

Harry raked a hand through his tangled hair and tutted. “I really don’t have any idea. I’m not even sure how I came to be here. The last thing I remember was falling asleep, thinking of some dreams I had just recently had and the next thing I knew, I was walking some dirt road, sweating from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. That was when I met up with you,” said Harry.

“It’s probably morning now. I wonder what my roommates will do when I don’t wake up,” Draco mused.

“Shit, I hope Ron doesn’t put his smelly socks under my nose to wake me up, though it’ll probably work. His socks smell so horrible that I reckon it can rouse even the dead,” Harry shuddered.

Draco, however, cringed in disgust.”Gross Gryffindors,” Draco countered, hugging his coconut close to his chest.

Harry took his shoes and socks off and dipped his feet in the pond with a sly smile. “By Godric, this feels good,” Harry mouthed, watching Draco’s look of horror and absolute repulsion animatedly.

“YUCK! Eurgh, I’m never drinking from that pond again. That’s disgusting!” Harry laughed at Draco’s reaction and continued to paddle his tired feet, enjoying the way the water caressed his calf.

“So—you haven’t told me the circumstances as to why _you’re_ here. If this is my dream, as you so pointedly insist, then what in Merlin’s name are _you_ doing here?” Harry smacked his lips to further irritate the already irate and disgusted Draco.

“How the hell should I know? You don’t even know how you yourself got here and now you’re asking me?”

“ _I_ purchased a Dreamcatcher not too long ago and I have a very good hunch that it’s the reason for all this hellish misfortune. This isn’t the first time it malfunctioned after all.” Harry could still, though obscurely, recount the last time the Dreamcatcher had gone haywire and brought him thoroughly disturbing dreams where he and Draco Malfoy were in a compromising and terribly lecherous position.

“Ah, so it _was_ your fault! I knew it!” Draco frowned at him, and then silence ensued. After a while, Draco thought about Harry’s words and became curious. “What did you need a Dreamcatcher for?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because we need something to talk about.”

“Why don’t we talk about how _you_ came to be here, then, if we need something to discuss so badly?”

“Fine! Forget I asked.”

There was silence again as Harry dropped down on the ground flat on his back with his arms perpendicular to his body, drinking in the sights of the night sky. “You have to admit, though, that the sky looks magnificent, hellish dream or not,” Harry couldn’t stop himself from murmuring. Draco looked up and saw for himself what Harry was talking about.

The sky was of velvety darkness and yet swathed with silvery sparkles of the stars and the spectacular crescent moon that was hanging low on the horizon, seemingly just an arm’s length away from being picked off the firmament. Nature’s fireworks were out in full force; there were blazing blues, raging reds and scorching silvers on the tapestry in thousands of soft folds of azure that is the evening heavens. Once or twice Draco caught a meteor jumping from one point of the skies to another, radiating a playful sliver similar to exploding wand-tips. It was truly magical.

“Did you see that falling star? You should make a wish,” said Draco dreamily, momentarily forgetting that it was Harry Potter who was stuck in Nowhere Land with him.

“You truly _are_ a barrel of surprises, Malfoy.”

“A nanny used to tell me that. She was really good at fortune-telling, and whenever we got out of the manor to watch the stars when I was young, she would always tell me to make a wish on a falling star,” continued Draco dreamily, unmindful of Harry’s tone of ridicule.

“Never mind,” sulked the blond, finally catching on that the other boy was making fun of him. “Merlin Potter, if this coconut could talk, I’d rather talk to it than to you, but unfortunately you’re the only somewhat-intelligent life-form around for about a radius of twenty miles. And, Merlin, did I just say you were _intelligent_? I take it back. I’m obviously having lapses in judgment. This is what thirst, hunger and bad company does to a person.” Draco exclaimed, looking like every word had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I was just _amused_. Last I checked I have a right to be amused, Malfoy.”

“Why do I have to be the one who is made fun of, huh? What about you? You know, only children need Dreamcatchers because they can’t handle nightmares. I wonder what the great Harry Potter dreams about that he buys _toys_ to give him happy dreams.” It was Draco’s turn to make fun of Harry.

“For your information, I needed the Dreamcatcher because my dreams were always infested with death, torture and generally a lot of pain caused by someone who was supposed to be dead and yet still succeeds to terrorize me even in my sleep. How’s that for starters?” Harry asked through gritted teeth.

Draco, for his part, was stunned to silence. “Just—just pretend I never asked you about it,” he finally mouthed, a little uncomfortable at having the Dark Lord brought up. “Let’s just concentrate on trying to get out of here,” he added as an afterthought. Draco couldn’t afford the other boy to be mad at him for a variety of reasons. The desire to infuriate Harry was defeated by the desperation to get out of here with the help of the latter.

“Yeah, I guess,” came the reply. “I’m going to get some shut-eye. You ought to do the same,” he added.

The blond Slytherin wanted to bash his brains in. Although he had always known that Harry was definitely more attractive when mad, hence his life’s mission to incense the Gryffindor, it would be teetering too close to the danger zone if he continued to anger the other boy; especially when there was no one else he could ask help from to get his arse out of this nightmare-turning-real. Being with Harry had not had its usual benefits this time around.

 _Shit! I was going to forget this madness._ Draco closed his eyes when total silence had enveloped the two of them, cursing and muttering to himself. _I was going to leave those dreams as nothing more than mere dreams, leave them in the darkness of the night so that when morning comes—_

The comforting calm of darkness behind his eyelids was suddenly gone. Hot air was cruelly blowing on his face again. He opened his eyes abruptly and saw, aghast, that the night stars were gone and the restful darkness itself was replaced by light, starting to break free from the pink, yellow and purple dawn. As sudden as its setting barely a few moments ago, the sun was already peeking through the shadows of the endless fields of dead grass in the east. “Fucking hell,” Draco murmured.

Harry hastily sat up and opened his eyes, gaped at the rising sun like a lunatic for what seemed like forever, before sputtering, “What the hell is that?”

“The sun?” Draco’s voice was a whiplash.

“I know it’s the sun, but just a couple of—we saw it set—stars—night—you saw that, didn’t you?” Harry was still horror-struck.

“Yes,” Draco admitted grudgingly. _It was frigging morning again, for Merlin’s sake!_

“This dream is so fucked-up, it’s beyond words,” Draco ground out. He stood up and brushed dirt off his robes. “And I have a feeling it’s going to get more fucked-up. I guess this is the signal that we should resume that area-wide search for a way to get out of here,” he added dejectedly. He kicked a pebble off the edges of the pond, watching Harry pull on his socks a bit impatiently.

“I know you’re going to accuse me yet again of ownership of this dream, and I just want to remind you _again_ , that it’s not,” said Harry, raking his fingers through his untamable hair now made even more atrocious by a coating of dust.

“I wasn’t going to, but let’s face it; you’re the one who has had dreams of death and torture. If this dream is not classified as torture, I don’t know what is,” Draco put in with infuriating smugness.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and decided arguing with the Slytherin was just a waste of time and valuable energy, so he looked at Draco and held a hand up to silence the latter, “Look—let’s just start walking because like you said, this dream is probably going to get weirder; let’s not stand around here waiting for that to happen.”

For once, Draco agreed with him. Quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I've been told that Harry seems a bit out of character in this chapter but I really beg to disagree--just think how you, yourself, would react if you're stuck in an unfamiliar place with someone you think you hate (and who hates you, too,or so you think) and you're hungry and dirty and lost... you'd be rattling a few teeth loose, too, I bet!
> 
> People do have their threshold for bullshit, even the great Harry Potter! Hahaha!
> 
> So I am keeping a sharp eye out for your kudos, comments and lurve! Keep 'em pouring, please.
> 
> Don't worry about being kept hanging as regards this story because this one is finished so the chapters will be coming in quite regularly to satisfy your fix. It's DENIZEN I'm really worried about actually, as I am facing a pretty adamant brick wall on that one. Hence, I really need all the love I could get...
> 
> On to the next installment then... Mabuhay!

“I’m hungry.”

Harry absent-mindedly kicked a pebble on the edge of the stream they had found a couple of minutes ago. He had decided to traverse the pebbled path parallel to it since it would solve their basic problem of lack of water amidst Draco’s wails of protest that the pebbled, muddy and uneven ground would ruin his custom-made shoes, and that the water looked too dirty to drink. The stream, in Harry’s opinion, was quite clear and clean, but trust Draco to look down on it because it was not his usual bottle of sparkling water from some spa. And now the latter was whining loudly again, too loudly to ignore, much to Harry’s irritation, about being hungry.

“Oh now I’m starting to regret deeply why we left your prized coconut by the waterhole,” the black-haired Gryffindor glowered, keeping the desire to yank Draco’s head off at bay.

“The coconut meat was of no use to us. We couldn’t even open the damn thing,” Draco sulked, pounding his custom-made shoes angrily against the chicken egg-sized pebbles on the shore of the stream.

“Oh I wasn’t thinking of feeding you the coconut, Malfoy. I was thinking more along the lines of beating your head to a pulp by pounding the rock-hard coconut on your skull,” said Harry, clenching his fists in irritation.

“Look, as much as I want to keep away from your wrath and every opportunity of talking to you, Potter—I cannot ignore the somersaulting complaints of my digestive system pleading to be sated. I need food. If you’re not hungry, then good for you. But just because you are going on a hunger strike, trying to beat all world records of self-torture by voluntary deprivation of all forms of nourishment, doesn’t mean I have to suffer along with you. I intend to eat to have the energy to look for a way to get the fuck out of this place,” Draco argued. Harry nearly cried with frustration, and for the nth time, thought that it was the greatest punishment to be in the middle of nowhere with one Draco Malfoy, whiner extraordinaire.

“You are not helping any in our predicament! Stay the hell away from me, Malfoy, because I might forget my Gryffindor nobility and strangle you with my bare hands! I am now seriously regretting that I didn’t drown you in the pond when I had the chance! And if you’re fucking hungry, do some more fucking manual labor and get your own fucking food because I’m not one of your fucking servants to hand you a fucking meal in a fucking silver platter! Do you fucking get my point, you fucking arsehole?” Harry was already red in the face, pouring out all his anger at having to tolerate the pompous Slytherin aside from trying to find a way to get out of the dream they were both in. He was gesticulating wildly and clenching his fists at the other boy in thundering rage. Draco, on the other hand, was quite shocked to hear the many swear words from the rumoured-to-be-noble-and-a-saint Gryffindor and, for the first time in quite awhile, actually kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, if I could only leave you right here to rot, I would. But sadly, this is not my dream to get out of; it’s yours. And don’t you dare tell me that this fucked-up dream is mine or I wouldn’t think twice about burying you alive.” Harry thundered on, hunger, fear and weariness fueling his rage at the hapless Slytherin.

Draco pouted, still hearing the echoes of Harry’s tirade. But when the Gryffindor started walking again, he followed suit. “I’ve nowhere else to go, Potter,” was all he mouthed from his lonely place, three paces behind Harry after the ringing silence over the latter’s outburst.

Harry didn’t say anything but cursed inwardly at his rotten luck. What Draco said was true. Both of them had got nowhere else to go. If there were any other options of places to go and people to be with, he would’ve taken them, but he was stuck with Draco—just as Draco was stuck with him. And it was slowly killing them both. Or, if he was honest with himself, he was making it kill them both; but he didn’t feel like being honest right then.

Draco didn’t pester Harry further about being hungry, though he undeniably was. He didn’t want Harry to go ballistic again. He tried to put up with his rumbling stomach begging for nourishment for as long as he could but after what seemed like a lifetime of walking, sharing nothing but soft grunts and heavy breathing, he just had to get the attention of his raven-haired companion that his small intestines were already being devoured by his large ones due to hunger.

“Um Potter—I, ah, really am starving. We need to stop for awhile,” Draco called from way behind Harry, practically crawling with fatigue and famish.

Harry froze in his progress and Draco grimaced, preparing himself for the telling-off that Harry might give him again. But Harry just looked at him and shook his head softly. “Fine.”

Harry went back a few paces and offered a hand to help Draco back to his feet. “To tell you the truth, I’m quite hungry, too,” Harry admitted softly; that tirade had gotten the steam out of his system, not to mention had drained him physically too.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye, apprehensive whether he should say something to the other boy. Harry, meanwhile, was looking around, surveying the terrain for possible sources of food. Draco was internally debating, trying to pluck up the courage to say something, anything, to Harry. He feared for a fleeting moment that Harry would only mock him if he said something nice, and therefore something completely out of character.

“I’m really sorry for bothering you. It’s just that I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to help myself because I’m not as resourceful or as optimistic as you. I—I really need your help; it’s not just to infuriate you or to be a pest,” Draco softy said, but he regretted his decision to say something the moment the words were out of his mouth. The Gryffindor would only mock his vulnerability now, he was sure.

Harry looked at him, slightly surprised and more than a little guilty, but he merely nodded, “It’s OK. I’m sorry, too. Both of us are just so wound up that our patience is running out. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that for no reason at all,” he managed, but he looked like every word was being tweezed through his teeth. Draco was the one who was mildly shocked then at Harry’s words. No matter how much he wracked his brains for nicer things said by Harry in the past, he couldn’t come up with anything. This will go down as a Hogwarts record—the nicest things two rivals could say to each other…Dumbledore would die of shock if he weren’t already dead.

“I have an idea,” said Harry. He pursed his lips and then bent over to yank his shoes and socks off. He quickly took off his robes and his other pieces of clothing before Draco could object. Harry dove into the stream in his boxer shorts. The blonde Slytherin’s mouth was open in astonishment, wearing an appalled look that Harry had to laugh at when the latter surfaced after a few laps under the stream.

“What’s the purpose of this?” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, eyes questioning.

“To search for food, what else?”

“This stream probably has piranhas or man-eating fish. It’s not safe,” said Draco, worriedly.

“I wouldn’t put anything past this crazy dream, but this stream has to be put to good use, not to mention I’m in desperate need for a bath,” Harry exclaimed, submerging once again. Draco shook his head disbelievingly at Harry’s antics. He was reminded yet again of the dreams about Harry that he had wanted to forget.

Draco sat down by the stream, dipping his tired feet in the cool water. He silently waited for Harry to resurface, a little wistful. He couldn’t believe that he was with Harry at that very moment. He had always dreamed of it, obsessed over it even in his sleep, and now it had finally happened. He couldn’t believe that the golden, opportune moment he had always dreamed about was happening within a dream as well, a dream frighteningly too real for comfort. But the real Harry was a bit too prickly and rude for his exact liking, what he wanted was…

“Hey Malfoy, you alright?”

Harry was swiping wet strands of his black locks away from his face before swimming to where Draco was seated, in deep thought.

“You OK?” Harry asked again.

Draco nodded with a grin. “As much as I want to join you and take a well-deserved bath en route to finding food, I’m quite obsessed with my arse cheeks being intact the way they are.”

“Nothing is going to attack your arse cheeks or any part of you, Malfoy. C’mon, help me find food!”

Draco hesitantly took his filthy robes and clothes off, while Harry was submerged again, dove into the stream before Harry could resurface and get a chance to see him in his underwear. The water was cuddling cold and fresh against his dry, slightly sunburned skin. The floor of the stream was strewn with round pebbles and sand, rubbing against his feet calloused from walking too far for too long. Gurgling of water being sliced through by powerful arms filled his ears as he dove deep underwater. The water was clear enough to see some five yards away, but there was nothing beyond his range of vision; not one small carp or trout was visible.

He surfaced, took a deep breath of precious air and dove under again to help find food. His feet paddled through the tides and his arms propelled him forward. Something encircled his ankles and he thrashed around, surfacing abruptly in fear that some giant water demon had got hold of him. “Relax Malfoy, it’s just me,” Harry chuckled, swiping his wet hair that had gotten over his eyes because of Draco’s thrashing.

“Very funny, Potter! I thought for awhile there that some Grindylow has got me,” Draco squirmed.

“Grindylow? I don’t think so. Still nothing though, not even a single clump of edible waterweeds or something—“ It was then, very suddenly, that something slimy slithered up Malfoy’s backside.

Draco screamed and furiously paddled towards shore, breaking hell loose. “There’s something there!” He hollered imperiously, much to Harry’s bemusement, holding his butt when he had made it back to the safety of the edge of the stream. “It was going to eat my arse! There’re piranhas in that stream, Potter!”

Harry stared at him a bit dazedly, “Alright! You found some food.” He dove underwater and vanished from sight. Draco hurriedly put on his clothes after self-consciously noticing that Harry had already seen him in wet underwear. _Shit!_

The Slytherin walked to the clump of shrubbery farthest away from the stream and sat down with his back to the water, cheeks hot with embarrassment. He shouldn’t have screamed and kept his cool, and he shouldn’t have jumped out of the water so suddenly thereby exposing things that should’ve been better left concealed—in full view of Harry Potter.

The flush on his cheeks was probably raging. Thoughts of the old dreams bombarded his consciousness again, overwhelming him, scaring him. The whisper of flesh on flesh; Harry’s smooth arms, which weren’t too bulky with muscles and the smell of his black hair like chamomile and chocolate. The dreams of Harry were also so real like this dream where they were both trapped in, but he summoned all of his willpower to shove the remaining details in the deeper part of his mind that even he, himself, wouldn’t be able to reach. He forced himself to forget them, to banish them from his mind…and his heart. They were just dreams…

“Hey.” Harry tapped his shoulder lightly, breaking into his thoughts. He never noticed how much time had already gone. Harry wasn’t dripping anymore. He must have emerged from the stream some thirty minutes ago already, but he was still in his under shorts, barefoot and half naked. “I thought you were hungry?”

Draco stood up from his spot and followed Harry back to the edge of the stream, uneasy. There were debris of a hastily created fire there, twigs, dried leaves and some sharp stones. “I should thank you for finding our lunch,” Harry jested. “Though you almost scared it away with that ear-splitting scream.”

Draco could’ve collapsed with shame, but held his Malfoy dignity, “I didn’t scream.”

“Right, right—you screeched like a runaway banshee, more like,” Harry stifled a mocking guffaw. “You scream like a girl; has anyone ever told you that?”

Draco could feel the beginnings of another violent blush, so he looked away and pulled his robes closer to his chest. “And you conduct yourself like an uncouth caveman! If anyone ever tells you that, agree with them! And anyways, I thought it was going to eat my butt. I doubt you’d react differently if something had slithered up _your_ butt.”

 _Bad move._ Including Harry’s butt in the conversation was definitely a bad move… Harry bit his lower lip to stifle another laugh and just passed the cooked fish impaled on a crooked stick to Draco.

Draco looked at the fish dubiously; its one side was bright orange while the other side was blood red. It looked dreadfully unappetizing and ugly. “This fish looks mutated or something; are you quite sure this isn’t poisonous? And how did you cook it?”

“Made a fire by rubbing two stones together and feeding the feeble flame with dried twigs and leaves until it was big enough to cook. It’s not so hard; Muggles on TV do it all the time in adventures in the outback,” Harry replied nonchalantly, omitting the fact that starting the fire had been so frustrating he had nearly hit himself with the said stones. “And I suggest you taste it first before you pass judgment. It’s probably a carp or something,” He said as he grabbed the stick with the fish from Draco, pinched some meat off and stuffed it in his mouth. “Tersht white grubd—“ He shoved the fish to Draco again but the latter only grimaced more pointedly. “I said it tastes quite good; try it,” urged Harry.

Draco took a small, suspicious bite, which was later on followed by bigger, more animated bites of the fish. The boys shared it quite civilly; Draco finished off the red part while Harry worked on the orange side of the mutated fish. Most of the meal was polished off in silence since they were so hungry, although once or twice they joked about Draco’s earlier agitation. By the time the fish was properly licked and sucked clean, both Draco and Harry were full and recharged to continue searching for a way out of the dream.

It was only when they were climbing to their feet again to resume their journey that Draco realized that there was something disturbingly familiar about the stream. He concluded later on in his thoughts, though, that it was probably just the joy of sharing a meal with Harry that had made the stream seem familiar. He had always secretly wished for it after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep the love coming y'all...

“We should keep walking straight, you know—we are bound to get to the end of this shit…somehow,” said Harry, softly grunting as he made his way through huge, mossy boulders on the edge of the stream, his frayed and filthy robes flying behind him.

Draco was breathing hard and once or twice wiped beads of sweat from his face with his palms. “Well, that’s a plan. But this stream sure is long,” he grunted.

The boulders were huge, slippery and sometimes pointed and sharp on the edges, slowing down whatever progress they were making in the journey parallel to the stream. Draco’s feet were killing him but he dared not say a word in case Harry erupted in fits of anger again; custom-made Italian leather shoes were not meant for hiking on rough terrain, but he doubted that _that_ would register with the uncouth Gryffindor.

“We need some kind of plan at the very least. There _has_ to be a way to get out of here,” Draco exclaimed. His once-manicured hands were calloused and rough with manhandling the damn rocks, pebbles and boulders of this godforsaken hellhole, he noticed with dismay as he trailed some four paces behind the Gryffindor.

“Well—I guess the elementary question is: how do we wake up? Obviously, we would get out of this dream upon waking up, right? Any ideas?”

The blond contemplated the question posed by the other boy. It was worse than a riddle without a definite answer or a joke with a missing punch line. He didn’t even know how the hell he got to this place, so the fundamental question of how to get out eluded him.

“Darn. The elementary question doesn’t seem to be too elementary at all, from where I’m coming from,” Draco spat, dug the heel of his shoes in the ridge of the boulder he was traversing and hoisted himself up with the most gargantuan of efforts.

Harry groaned dejectedly and raked a hand through his hair that was violently standing on end already, stiff with dust and grime. “Ditto—but that is _the_ mystery here. If only I can find a way to counter what went wrong with the Dreamcatcher, I could get out of here.”

“At least, _you_ have a starting point.”

“I might as well walk through this dream with my eyes closed with that kind of starting point!” Harry scowled into the distance, the thought angering him. “It’s as good as nothing. I don’t have a single clue how to rectify a Dreamcatcher’s mistake. Now, I’m starting to wish I had never let myself believe Hermione when she told me it’s what I needed,” he moaned, flopping down on a flat boulder to take a breather, too tired to be angry. Draco followed suit, mildly interested at the kindling of platonic conversation between the two of them, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“If we die in this dream, does that mean we die for real?”

Harry looked at Draco and weighed the odds whether he should react to the latter’s worry. “I don’t know. It’s not exactly something we can experiment with, is it?”

“Whenever you dream about You-Know-Who, what happens?” Draco asked in the most decent manner, as free of mockery and sarcasm as he could manage, hoping that Harry wouldn’t find it offending.

“He always tries to kill me. The last time I had that kind of dream, I was about to be decapitated by a guillotine. But I woke up before the blade could slice my neck. It felt so real, though, that I had to check and recheck the attachment of my neck to my torso,” Harry chortled in spite of himself and looked at the blond Slytherin for his feedback.

“By ‘tries’, do you mean he has never done you in for real in any of your dreams? That you always wake up at the last minute before certain death in the hands of You-Know-Who? Then what if—that’s the secret, then?”

“I don’t quite get you. What do you mean?”

“What if…what if I try to kill you—right now and you wake up before I could kill you for real, just like in your other dreams? It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Draco thought out loud.

Harry fell silent, checking the soundness of the idea, but then shook his head, mildly surprised at himself that he was actually considering the idea of Draco Malfoy trying to kill him to save themselves with all seriousness, “There’s only one catch. What if I don’t wake up and you succeed in killing me? It’s not very—I don’t know—foolproof, from where I’m standing.”

“But it’s worth a shot—“

“I don’t like the idea of me risking my neck just so we can see how feasible that plan is, and besides, that accounts for me alone. What happens to you if the plan works for me? I don’t know. Somehow, I would like to believe that there’s a better and _safer_ way to get out of here,” Harry countered.

Draco fell silent again. It was not without its hitches, true, but it was a ruddy brilliant plan, though Harry rejected it. “Do you have a better idea, then?” he asked.

“Actually, no—I don’t.”

There was silence as Draco shuffled from where he was seated, looking around hoping against hope that the big door with a placard that said EXIT would appear out of nowhere so their problems would be over. “Try shaking me hard, rattling me enough to jolt me awake. I volunteer to be the guinea pig. It’s not very dangerous—the worst that could happen is that I’d puke all over you.” Draco stood up and walked to where Harry was seated, deep in thought.

“And exactly how does that move ensure that we _both_ get out of here? What happens to me if that works? Am I supposed to run around in circles until I’m dizzy and vomiting all over myself to jolt myself awake?” The manner in which the ideas were being trashed was alarming. They could very well remain seated there for a hundred years brainstorming, checking and double checking the feasibility of their plans only to be brought brutally back to square one—with ideas as many as none.

“Or we could just wait here and pray that people would try to wake us up. I mean, if we’ve been asleep for three whole days already, it’s enough for people in our houses to raise the alarm and inform a teacher. We could just sit tight and wait for that time,” suggested Harry, although it was quite obvious that he, himself, didn’t appear to have too much faith in the idea of sitting like a nincompoop doing absolutely nothing.

“Uh, uh,” Draco disagreed. “We could be stuck here forever if we rely too much on outside interference.”

Harry buried his head between his knees and put his arms across them to hide his downcast face. “I see no way out of here, unless we can master how to control dreams,” Harry murmured, more to himself than to Draco.

“Is that possible? Controlling dreams, I mean,” asked Draco, plopping down beside the black-haired Gryffindor on the flat surface of the huge rock protruding from the edge of the stream.

“I honestly have no idea.”

“I could do with controlling my dreams, and then I won’t need a Banisher anymore,” Draco thought aloud.

“What?” Harry turned quizzically to his companion.

“What? Are you talking to me?”

“What’s a Banisher?”

“Who said anything about a Banisher?”

“You did.”

“Maybe we should start walking again. We’re wasting time when we could continue trekking to cover more ground,” avoided Draco. He knew Harry would now start badgering him for what he let slip about a Banisher. _Double Shit._ En route to finding out what he’s been dreaming lately. _A whole load of shit!_

“Malfoy, what’s a Banisher?” What felt like a good thirty minutes had passed when Harry brought up the topic of the Banisher again. They were traversing the upstream, fighting through mossy, pointed boulders and pebbles grinding against the soles of their shoes. The sun was still high on the horizon, burning the back of their necks and their scalps. Beads of sweat stung Draco’s tired eyes and he viciously swiped a grime-covered sleeve on his face, cursing under his breath.

 _Brilliant—ruddy intelligent…_ “I really can’t chat right now, Potter. I am currently negotiating with a particularly stubborn boulder and fighting against the strongest urges to rip my clothes off and start walking stark naked in this mind-numbing heat.”

That shut Harry up at the very least, and Draco breathed the softest sigh of relief. The subject of why he needed a Banisher in the first place was such a sore issue. It was definitely the last subject on his list of TO-DISCUSS topics with Harry-ruddy-Potter over a casual cup of tea. He’d much rather shove this boulder up his arse first than talk about it with him, no less.

Harry froze in front of him, which he didn’t see since he was immersed in deep thoughts. He was jolted out of reverie only when his nose collided with the back of Harry’s head. “OUCH! Shit! What the hell was that for?”

“Shh, can you hear that?”

“What?”

“Sounds like rapids. Come on, it’s over there,” Harry picked up his feet again, hurtled through the mass of boulders in lightning quick fashion, obviously eager to check out his theory. Draco followed close behind, heaving himself up the particularly huge and pointed rocks, becoming more and more aware of the sound of viciously gushing water somewhere ahead.

He scraped his knee against the rough boulder, stubbed the toe of his shoes on a boulder ridge, almost fell flat on his face, grimacing in pain in his hurry. Malfoys were obviously born to rule the world, not to follow insane saviours!

Harry was still ahead, oblivious to Draco’s minor accidents, striding through the rocks as if he were just taking an afternoon stroll without a care in the world. Draco didn’t even notice him stop abruptly until he, too, was beside Harry looking down on some thirty foot drop, which was mildly concealed by mist, on the edge of the stream where the pointed rocks were probably most abundant.

“Holy shit!” Draco almost lost his footing but managed to recover his bearings to fall on his behind instead. “What happens to the ‘keep going straight’ plan now?”

“This might probably be it,” Harry murmured stoically, and if Draco hadn’t been practically breathing down his neck he wouldn’t have been able to hear the boy above the din of the raging waters.

“What do you mean?” inquired Draco, partially suspecting that Harry had finally succumbed to insanity, having had his brains addled by the stifling heat.

“It might be the portal out of here!”

Draco craned his neck to look further down, squinted to try to see through the thick mass of clouds and could make out what looked like a sea of pointed boulders thirty feet below. “Have you gone mad? Are you telling me that this thirty-foot kamikaze is the way out of here? This is no better than the suggestion that I should attempt to kill you until you wake up. In fact, this is much worse than that!”

“This is probably the exit disguised as a killer waterfall,” Harry hollered to make himself heard above the torrential gushing of violent rapids as they crashed to meet the carpet of pointed boulders below.

“In absolutely no fucking way am I going to jump and plunge to my demise! No fucking way in hell!” Draco took several cautious steps away from the edge of the stream, waiting subconsciously for the other boy to retract his claim and say that he was only joking.

“We won’t find out whether this is the exit we are looking for if we just stand around here debating,” Harry called after the retreating Slytherin.

“You can go first then! Yell at the top of your lungs if you see a swirly-portal-thing so I can jump after you. Scream in terror if you see a mass of pointed rocks at the bottom, I’d take that as a signal to not jump right after you. Do the honors then, Potter,” Draco spat, curtseying a little too exaggeratedly to invite Harry to be the noble guinea pig.

Harry paled. It was one thing to go after a murdering madman who had killed your parents and was about to unleash a Holocaust on the wizarding world and quite another to jump to what appeared to be certain death, merely to test a theory. At least the annoying Slytherin was right on the mark on that.

“I’m a noble Gryffindor—I’ll let you go first to your salvation,” Harry shook his head. No way in Merlin’s name was he going to go first.

Draco snorted. “You speak of salvation, Potter. And I highly doubt that this—,” he signaled to the murderous plunge to oblivion, “—is the way to our so-called salvation. This is more like a kamikaze fall to the nth recesses of the underworld. If you don’t want to go first to test this sublime and superior idea of yours, then I, as sure as hell, am not going to volunteer,” Draco haughtily proclaimed.

Harry shrugged and surveyed the thirty-foot fall again by craning his neck as far as it would go to check out the bed of rocks directly underneath where they were standing. “Shit,” he murmured. “We have to find another way then or else we haven’t got a choice but to jump for it,” he finished.

The blond Slytherin pivoted to check the terrain for another way. The foot of the mountain at the right side of the stream was covered in underbrush and thicket, towering and thick trees and, to his dismay, more rocks. The other side was of brown, dead grass, cracked earth and most probably several bones of dead travelers who had died of starvation and dehydration. Of course, there was, still before them, the thirty-foot plummet to the utmost void. “It’s not an easy choice, is it? As we’ve absolutely no _easy_ way to take,” Draco mouthed, half-cursing.

“We have to cross the stream. That’s the first and safest move. We haven’t got anything on this side but dead underbrush and the highway to guaranteed dehydration,” Harry motioned, preparing to cross the raging rapids to get to the foot of the mountain on the other side of the stream.

“I don’t know about ‘safest’, Potter! Have you, by any chance, seen what awaits us lest we slip from these _moss-covered_ boulders? Look down, and see for yourself. Those rocks aren’t going to show us mercy and we haven’t got wands to save us!” Draco gesticulated to the pointed rocks thirty feet below. “You do have strange ideas regarding _safest._ ”

“If you want to stay here and hold an internal deliberation until forever whether you walk or jump for it, you’re going to have to do it alone, Malfoy. We have to cross the rapids and see what awaits us at the other side. There is nothing for us here—we have to move!”

Harry held out both his arms perpendicular to his body to achieve balance as he stepped, as carefully as he could from one foothold to another, trying his best to ignore the violently flowing water and the pointed rocks at the bottom of the falls that were in store for him if he made a wrong move.

 “Are you quite sure of this, Potter? We don’t even know if there’s anything at all on the other side!” Draco called out, doubt and dread mixed in equal measure in his voice, but Harry was already halfway on the crossing. Draco watched him fearfully and had his hands clenched on his sides willing Harry to stay balanced and in control.

“We’ll think about that once we’ve crossed!” Harry called out vaguely, his entire attention focused on the task at hand.

Draco was still gaping at Harry, who had finally taken his last step to the safety of the other side and was looking at him, willing him to start moving. “I think I see a mountain path, Malfoy! Are you going to cross or am I going to have to just leave you there, and remind myself to send you a Hogsmeade postcard sometime next year?” Draco looked at Harry, who was already standing quite smugly at the other side of the stream, horrified. Harry had no idea how clumsy he could be, and that precise moment was not the time for goof-offs.

“If I fall, Potter, my father will be after your blood and my ghost will haunt your waking—and sleeping—moments until the day you die!”

“Yeah, yeah! Just start walking, OK?”

Draco took an apprehensive first step on a rather small and unevenly surfaced rock; his other foot was hovering over the raging water because the first foothold was too small to accommodate both his feet. His arms, stiff and cold, were suspended on both his sides to get the perfect balance. He knew he didn’t look remotely glamorous hanging in there, subconsciously aware of the taunting jeers of the flowing water. He was going to die there, his hair sticking up frizzed and covered in grime, his robes tattered, torn and sweaty, his custom-made shoes ready to fall to pieces, his body greasy with filth, his stomach deprived of all forms of nourishment, and with Harry Potter ogling at him some three meters away —in other words—as unglamorously as possible for a Malfoy heir.

“I hope you get a move on this millennium, Malfoy!”

“This isn’t exactly a piece of cake, Potter. Shut up—you’re ruining my concentration!”

With his knees trembling, Draco deposited his other foot on the next foothold in an ungainly fashion. His arms were stiff as boards on both his sides and were slightly flailing like a hen trying to escape while being slaughtered. His filthy robes were flying like a frayed parachute behind him. He wanted to crawl on all fours, no matter how shameful it looked, if it meant ensuring that he’d get to the other side in one piece but Harry’s smug sneer was making him stir up what was left of his Malfoy pride. With his courage slowly ebbing away, he took another bold as brass step to another foothold that was big enough to hold both his feet. _Don’t look down; keep going—this is just a piece of cake. If Potter could do it, so can you…_ He was running a morale boosting commentary under his breath while he intrepidly jumped to another rock. This was not a very smart move, however, which he suddenly realized as he felt his balance waning. He thrashed his arms wildly in great circular motions on both sides to gain back his balance; he vaguely thought he must look like a stressed out bird about to fall from a tree branch, but he cared little as he ran back to where he came from in a boost of adrenaline and hugged the biggest boulder there like he’d never let go of it.

Harry groaned in irritation as Malfoy was back at the opposite side, hugging a boulder as if it were his mommy. “Oh come on, Malfoy. We don’t have time for this! Being chicken is not an excuse this time!”

“Who’re you calling a chicken, Potter?”

“Prove me wrong, then!”

_Easier said than done, scarhead!_

“Just you wait until I get there!” Draco took another bold first step, momentarily closed his eyes to reassure himself yet again that he would be able to do it. And then took on a second foothold, much quicker than the first attempt…and then a third…a fourth…so on—muttering under his breath and walking with catlike agility the second time around to get to the other side. He was three steps away from the other banks soon enough. “I can do it… I can do it…”

Harry, who was stifling his guffaws, mercifully kept his mouth shut while waiting for Draco to get to the other side.

When Draco’s two feet touched the banks, he was ecstatic with pride. He pumped two fists into the air and congratulated himself for making it unscathed.

Harry let out a sarcastic whoop of glee, “finally!”

The blond Slytherin snickered, obviously still proud of his feat, walked to the now-apparent mountain path as if there were springs on the balls of his feet just a couple of steps behind Harry. When the latter shoved aside a thicket to reveal the path up the mountain more clearly, Draco groaned loudly and cursed so viciously birds from the nearest tree took flight in fear, “Salazar’s smoldering socks! You pestered me to make that heart-stopping journey across rapids sent from hell for _this_? You have got to be kidding!”

“So—are you telling me you’d rather kamikaze plunge to goodness-knows-what, then?”

“What do you expect me to choose instead? This?” Draco pointed to the steep slope laden with moss, littered with protruding rocks that made landmine-infested soils appear more elegant and secure, flanked  closely by trees with deadly looking barks. It wasn’t a path you could _walk_ through but more like a vertical brick wall than anything else with the luxury of tree branches so low, that the only way to traverse it would be to use the said tree branches as monkey bars. Even Harry looked around, expecting the Muggle-story hero Tarzan to appear in his loincloth and throw them both some good, sturdy vines because of the way the path, or rather a pathetic excuse of it, looked like.

“Do I look like a mountain goat to you? Or a monkey, perhaps? You expect me to negotiate this and _live_ to tell the tale?” Draco walked up to Harry and asked cantankerously, convinced that Harry was blind even with his glasses on.

“I’ve _always_ thought you look like a monkey, and now you’re telling me you’re actually not? That _is_ a revelation,” Harry jeered outwardly, which made Draco more irate.

“Potter, you pathetic fool! Are you actually telling me that we really need to hike up this pathway?” asked Draco, willing Harry to say that they didn’t have to.

“We haven’t got a lot of alternatives here, Malfoy. Stop being a prat or I’ll shove you off the falls and listen to you scream your lungs out in absolute rhapsody. And _yes_ , we have to go through here whether you like it or not.” Harry tried to keep the worry he too felt out of his voice to bait Draco.

Draco groaned and shoved a hand through his hair, though knowing full well it was beyond any attempts at hygiene and glamour. “Fine, but I go ahead of you.”

“And may I ask why the very brave and noble Prince of Slytherin volunteers to go first, because I am quite sure it has nothing to do with Courage and Nobility at all?” Harry sneered, looking very much like a ragamuffin with his dirty appearance.

Draco scoffed, “So that when I slip I can cushion my fall by falling on you.” He spoke imperiously.

Harry raised his eyebrow in question and challenged, “And what makes you think that I won’t stand aside instead and watch while you roll down the path, screaming for dear life?”

“You wouldn’t,” the blond Slytherin replied calmly.

“Obviously, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet, precious.” Harry drawled and then held back a laugh when he saw the indignant reaction of the Slytherin.


	9. Chapter 9

“Can’t you pick up the pace, Malfoy? This isn’t a bloody procession!”

“Well, kiss my arse, Potter. Just shut up back there. And be thankful that I’m not complaining to you,” Malfoy snapped through gritted teeth.

“What right do you have to complain? I’m the one suffering behind you! Try to move a little faster. I, for one, really want to reach the end of this hell sometime next year, if you don’t mind,” Harry screamed from behind. Malfoy was starting to irk him again. “You’re the one who volunteered to stay up front! If I knew you’d be moving like a senile, old coot, I would have insisted to go first and I’d leave you and your custom-made shoes behind to feed on my dust!”

The path had proved to be really difficult to negotiate because it was too slippery and too steep, and one wrong step could send a person plummeting to a really, really painful death. And Harry’s complaining disguised as threats were not exactly helping, either.

“I’d probably injure something if I try to go faster. And then you’d have to carry me on your back,” said Malfoy, swatting a low-hanging vine off his face and grabbing hold of a branch to hoist himself higher up the path.

“Ha, like I’d do that! I’d rip your balls off, stuff them and hang them by the Gryffindor fireplace first before I’d carry you on my back as if I’m some kind of common mule,” Harry retorted. He lodged his foot deeper in the dirt, cursed, heaved himself up and gripped a handful of vines to steady himself. The fact was, for all the vitriol he was aiming at his rival up ahead, he couldn’t have gone faster had he been leading the way. But he would sooner roast his balls in the Gryffindor fire than admit that.

Malfoy started murmuring something under his breath that sounded like a variety of colorful cuss words. “Let’s go up the mountain,’ he said aloud. ‘Stupid prick, and now look at me—drenched in sweat, half-fainting from fatigue and withering because of hunger,’ Malfoy said to himself as he soldiered on up the path, grappling with twisted vines and digging his heels in the dirt to assume the ugliest and most contorted positions known to man.

Harry couldn’t believe that they were arguing again, but for all it was worth, he was actually enjoying Malfoy’s absolute suffering. He never thought he’d get to see Malfoy struggling the way he was. The blond had always been very poised, cool and collected, the epitome of grace and perfection. And now, he was virtually swimming in muck, hanging from vines like a Neanderthal and looking quite the antithesis of himself.

It was so damn amusing that Harry couldn’t help but snort and snigger.

“What the devil are you sniggering about? You actually find our situation amusing? You—are—sick, Potter!”

“Oh, I find being with you and going through hell with you amusing, now? You are the last person in the world I would appreciate being with me in a situation like this. And that is to put it mildly,” Harry spat.

 _Prat_ , he seethed inside, and was so lost in cursing the Slytherin he failed to notice when Draco slowed down and he actually collided with Draco’s back, causing the latter to wobble in his bearings. He prevented himself from falling headfirst into the slippery ground by plopping down on the mud on his behind with his legs spread out in a really obscene way beside him instead. The fall caused the mud to spray around him, stick to his already muddied pants, socks and seep into his underwear.

“Shit! Look what you’ve done!” Malfoy positively shrieked.

Harry tried to swallow the laughter bubbling in his throat, but he couldn’t. He started laughing so loud that some birds took flight from the taller trees in alarm. Draco, with his eyes narrowed, angrily wiped the sweat from the sides of his face, thereby spreading the muck from his hands to his face, and stood up with the help of a bunch of vines that were just slightly turning brown. “Hey, it wasn’t intentional. It probably wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so close—if you weren’t so _slow_ ,” Harry said, offering a hand from behind for Draco to take so he could let go of the vines and find more stable footing.

“It’s not funny, Potter. You could’ve killed me,” Malfoy muttered, still too shaken to be fuming mad.

“You might be a right real pain in the arse and I might threaten you once or twice, but I’m not a murderer, all right?”

Draco turned his head to look at Harry behind him from out of the corner of his eye and shrugged. The black-haired boy’s eyes were sparkling with amusement and humor, and Draco suddenly had enough of being laughed at. He had been brought up a nobleman and yet here he was, trying his best to work in hostile conditions he had never been subjected to, not even in his dreams, and he turned to a jeering Harry coldly. “You wouldn’t kill me because you still think this is my dream, and you believe that you wouldn’t be able to get out of here without me. We both know that you would gladly kill me or watch me die if you didn’t need me.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the accusation. “You really think you have me all figured out, don’t you, Malfoy? Now, can you _please_ start walking a little faster? So we can get out of here, after which, I can kill you like you said I have every intention of doing!”

Harry knew it. They were never going to get out of this nightmare. Because for them to even have a breath of a chance, he and Draco would have to work together. And they were really doing such a fine job of getting to know each other. He should just face the fact that Snape showing up in a tutu during breakfast was more probable than the two of them ever developing anything other than pure hatred and sarcasm for each other. And Malfoy’s accusation had stung. Okay, so he was not exactly on his friendly best, but he didn’t need to be that with Malfoy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to kill Malfoy, or watch him die! What a prick, he didn’t know anything about Harry! Of course, Harry wasn’t being exactly forthcoming about his true self, but this was Malfoy!…

They climbed in silence after that. Tension and exhaustion were stretching both of them thin, as it was. They didn’t need house rivalries to add to their growing worries of never finding a way out. The mud worsened as they climbed higher but they didn’t know how much farther it was to the mountaintop. The trees were so thick and so low, just a couple of inches above their heads, that they couldn’t see a single pinprick of light that might tell them that they were getting nearer to the top. The mud swallowed their shoes up to their ankles but there were also the occasional sharp rocks under the deceiving mud that pierced their thinning soles. The vines they kept holding on to began to cut into their palms as they tried to maintain grip, and low-hanging branches kept poking at their faces, scratching their skin.

The silence was worse than the bickering, at least for Draco, it was. He really didn’t want to fight with Harry anymore. He didn’t mean to accuse Harry, but he was just so tired and cranky that he just let his anger over their situation consume him. But he was tired of it, of maintaining the cool façade of sarcasm and indifference as if they were still at school and keeping track of their reputation and their rightful place in the food chain, so to speak. Draco was sick of it. He just wanted to like Harry. And he just wanted Harry to like him back, even only for a short while—while they have a nightmare to live through and survive through together. But Draco guessed that it was asking too much. There would always be subliminal tension and sarcasm in the way they deal with each other such that everything from him was necessarily adversarial once they reached Harry’s ears.

 _Why does he hate me so much? Why do I keep saying the wrong things for him to think I’m challenging him or something? I should really get a clue…but then he is being a prat too, a cruel prat, taking an almost sadistic pleasure in witnessing my suffering…maybe this really is his dream!_ Draco swiped the curtain of foliage away from his face and kept on going. What was he to do? If he kept on with his uncaring mask, he’d irritate Harry, but if he tried to be chums and friendly, Harry would probably think he was doing it for some evil ulterior motive.

Something snapped behind Draco and he turned abruptly around just in time to catch the vines that Harry was hanging on to collapse and give way under his grip. There was momentary alarm and panic in Harry’s green eyes as he lost his footing, which he still tried to recover by lodging his foot deeper in the mud and extending his arms to try to grab hold of low-hanging branches only to end up seizing nothing but emptiness. Draco twisted his body around, his quick Seeker’s reflexes kicking in to come to Harry’s aid. He enclosed his fist around Harry’s wrist before the latter completely lost his balance. But the mud beneath them was not enough to support their abrupt movements and awkward positions that Draco lost his footing as well, but slightly recovered his hold by hooking his leg to a protruding branch. Harry’s body dangerously slipped to the edge of the path where there was a sharp drop down the steep and deadly slopes of the mountain, riddled with sharp rocks, twisting and distorted undergrowth and huge tree trunks that would definitely cut a body in half should it collide and hurtle through the terrain. The side of Harry’s body pounded against the sharp slope of the mountain, but Draco’s hold on his wrist brought him back to the reality that he wasn’t hurtling through the mountainside yet. Grimacing, Harry looked up to find Draco’s hand tightly clutching his and the latter’s face contorted in a determined expression.

“Shit!”

Harry slipped slightly from the blonde’s grasp and he just closed his eyes, dreading the initial impact of sliding down the merciless mountainside. “Try to dig your toes in the dirt to find your footing. I’m going to try to guide you towards your left. There’s a vine there for you to hold on to. I have a better chance of being able to pull you up if you grab hold of the vine, Harry; do you understand me?” Draco yelled from the relatively safer ground of the path where the slope of the mountain was softer compared to where Harry was precariously hanging.

“Yeah,” Harry said, breathlessly. He looked towards the direction indicated by Draco and saw the vine innocently splayed on the dirt. Draco swung his arms sideways and led Harry closer to the vine. For his part, the latter stretched his arms to reach the vine with his fingers; he tried a number of times, grappled with air, his fingertips barely touching the vine without success.

“Shit! I can’t reach it!”

“You have to keep trying, Potter!”

Harry stretched his arm and flexed his fingers, willing them to extend so he’d be able to reach the vine, but his fingers grasped nothingness. “I can’t! I can’t reach it. A little bit more,” Harry yelled, looking up to find Draco’s face, tainted with mud and scrunched in a look of absolute concentration.

But Harry froze in mid-reach, realizing that there was something redeeming in being suspended from the side of the mountain over the vicious slopes. “Malfoy! Let go!”

“ _What_?!”

“I said you have to let go,” Harry said, almost calmly, considering the circumstances.

“Are you mental?! If I let go, you’ll die, arsehole!” Draco shrieked back at him. “This is not the time to be heroic or suicidal. I can swing you to the vine, Harry!”

“No! Remember your idea?” Harry looked up to meet Draco’s gray eyes. “I’ve never been killed in _my_ dreams; I always wake up before I see how it ends. And if this is my dream, this’ll all be over once _I_ wake up.” Harry freed Draco’s wrist from his hold and looked down again to see what awaited him.

But Draco threw his other arm out and secured Harry’s flailing one with a hiss. “Shit, Potter! This is crazy. You said there has to be a safer way for both of us to get out. And there has to be. _There has to be_!” The blonde Slytherin’s voice had already begun to tremble in the effort to hold on to Harry. “I’m not letting go,” he said, breathing heavily. “I’m _not_ going to watch you die.”

Green eyes met gray ones once again. “I’m going to swing you to the vine and you better grab hold of it or I swear to Merlin, I’m going to rip the balls off your corpse in the real world and sew them to your ears, and even the Custodian of the Underworld is going to laugh his arse off at you,” threatened Draco.

The blonde Slytherin issued a growl of Herculean effort and swung Harry as far as he could, given his own precarious position of holding Harry as the latter hung dangerously on the side of the mountain. Harry tried to reach the vine again and this time around, perhaps spurred on by Draco’s vile curses and dire threats, he successfully enclosed his fist around the vine. Slowly but surely, the blonde pulled the vine to the path and the gentler slope, safe from the deadly looking and sharp boulders and tree stumps. With a furiously beating heart, Harry crawled to the safety of the steep mountain path and practically hugged the handful of vines he had seized after Draco had safely pulled him back to the trail. His breathing was brutish, and his whole body was still trembling. Draco was lying almost face down on the muck, unmindful of the dirt and sweat mingling on his face. The latter’s legs had frozen on their grip on the protruding tree stump that had saved him from joining Harry in the heart stopping near-plunge to a very agonizing death.

“I can’t move. My legs have all seized up and refuse to budge.” Draco half-groaned. He was still shaking because of exhaustion and tension. “Are you OK?”

Harry craned his neck to meet his companion’s eyes, maintaining the firm grip on the vines, and smiled softly. He was trembling, dirty and aching. “Yeah. I think I’m going to be fine. Just a little battered and bruised. My shoulder feels like it will never heal again and I cut my forearm too, but I’ll be fine.”

They just stayed there for a couple of minutes, not having the strength to move and continue the hellish journey up the mount of doom to collect more near death experiences. Finally after a massive effort, Draco rose from his bed of muck, established his footing and grip of the vines and turned to look at Harry, who was still wallowing on the soft earth, too shaky to stand. “I ought to bitch-slap you so hard you’d never be able to sit down for scaring the hell out of me like that. Don’t _ever_ do that again, Potter.” Draco proffered a hand for Harry to take “Come on.”

“Yeah,” Harry mouthed when Draco had helped him up. 

“I think it’d be better if you go ahead and I’ll stay behind you, if that’s what it’ll take to keep you alive and out of trouble” the blonde Slytherin grumbled.

They continued the journey up the mountain in relative silence. After that little adventure, the floodgates to Harry’s feelings of shame, guilt and disquiet were opened and there seemed to be no holding them back. Harry was feeling ashamed of his treatment of his companion. Draco had risked his own life to help Harry while the latter was hanging off the deadly slope, which Harry had never really believed Draco to be capable of. He guessed he shouldn’t have counted on Draco to be so ruthless. He suddenly felt guilty of all the circumstances in this journey that he had made Draco feel like he’d rather have his brains pounded than be with Draco in this crisis.

And what was he thinking, even suggesting that Malfoy ought to drop him off the side of the mountain like a stone? He could still remember the look in Draco’s eyes when he had suggested it. There was alarm, concern and—fear in those gray eyes. Genuine fear. _“I’m not going to watch you die,”_ Draco had said. And there was no denying the pure, unadulterated truth to it. Harry became more immersed in guilt and disquiet at that.

There was nothing else but grunts of effort, squishing shoes sodden with muck, heavy breathing, snapping twigs and low-hanging branches, and stones rubbing against each other as their feet pounded up the slope. No words of complaints met Harry’s ears of his being slow or senile, and he felt even more guilty of his earlier treatment of the Slytherin.

“Thanks,” Harry mouthed out-of-the-blue. He and Draco had been traveling in complete silence for some time when Harry spoke. He wasn’t even sure if Draco had heard his thanks because the latter was traversing the path a couple of paces behind him, in deep concentration. Stealing a quick glance at Draco, Harry saw that the former had frozen in mid hoist, dumbfounded at what he thought he heard.

With wide gray eyes, Draco met Harry’s green ones, momentarily disbelieving that he’d really heard the thanks come from Harry’s own mouth. “What?”

“Never mind,” came Harry’s embarrassed reply.

Clearing his throat, Harry continued up the path. He could be so stupid sometimes, really.

Draco smirked in spite of himself. He heard that properly; he didn’t need it repeated to him but he did think he was just imagining it. After all, it’s not every day that words of gratitude are exchanged between famous rivals. “You’re welcome,” Draco mouthed, breathing heavily and grimacing a little. He hoped to Merlin that Harry wouldn’t find anything offensive or adversarial with his tone, idiotic Gryffindor that he was.

Harry shook his head slightly. He sort of felt thankful then that it was just the two of them traversing this hellish nightmare. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like if there were someone else trapped with them. That someone else would rather run head-on towards a big boulder, screaming curses than accompany them considering their ‘relationship’. Harry really couldn’t make out the kind of relationship he had struck with his companion, if it could even be called one, because he didn’t know where to place himself, how to talk to Draco, how to act around him. One moment they were spewing sardonic remarks and saving each other’s lives the next. Hell, they couldn’t even properly thank each other without some kind of tension.

“You think we’re still far from the mountaintop?” Draco asked after what felt like an eternity of climbing wordlessly.

“I can’t see anything yet. The trees are too thick,” Harry replied, swatting low-hanging branches to keep them from scratching his face.

Silence. Again.

 _Gods, we can’t even strike twenty seconds of small talk._ Harry thought. “Tired yet?” He asked.

While Draco was thinking, _he really has such a nice arse. It was a stroke of genius to volunteer to stay behind him. Such a great view!_

“Malfoy, you OK back there?” Harry called after Draco didn’t reply to his question.

 “What? Sorry—you were saying?”

“I asked you if you’re already tired. I was hoping we could take a break,” Harry said. Draco gladly plopped down on the mud in concurrence.

“Good idea,” he replied.

Harry sat down on a protruding root a few paces away from Draco’s space. Both of them were already covered in a week’s worth of mud, sweat and scratches that it was already hard to tell which suffered a rawer end of the deal. “Shit, I need a bath,” Harry complained, scrubbing his forearms with his palms and collecting gross amounts of caked mud in the process.

“How’s the shoulder?” Draco asked, a little offhandedly, wanting the question to appear as if it had just popped out of nowhere or that he didn’t mean to ask it but that it just came out of his mouth unbidden.

“Sore, but I think I’ll live,” Harry exclaimed and then added, “I recognize now that this was a bad idea. This mountain is terrible. I shouldn’t have forced you to climb it,” before he could lose his nerve to admit his mistake.

“You couldn’t have known. It’s OK; there was nowhere else to go anyway.”

Silence. For two people who are equally articulate given different circumstances, all of the dead air was quite unwelcome and unbelievable. They could spit insults and sarcasm like they would run out of fashion tomorrow and yet they couldn’t even say polite words to each other.

“Look at us, huh. We always have the worst invectives to give each other and yet here we are—we can’t even sustain two minutes of civilized conversation,” Harry said, before he could control himself, to reveal what, up to that point, was just his tumultuous thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say,” Draco mouthed. He knew it was quite ambiguous, but it was the truth. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Harry. Draco just slumped his shoulders and poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I guess I don’t want to end up saying the wrong things… which I’d most probably end up doing anyway.”

“I’m sorry about what happened back there. I didn’t know what I was thinking. But I’m glad, in retrospect, that you didn’t let go.” Harry stole a furtive glance at his blonde companion for the latter’s reaction. Draco just puckered his lips, breaking the mud layer that had caked on his face but didn’t say a word. “So since I owe you one, how about if we call a truce?” Harry continued, unmindful of the fact that other boy had not said anything.

Harry could’ve sworn that he heard birds twittering in the absolute silence. “But it’s only until we get out here, and I promise not to say anything to anyone about it when we wake up,” the Gryffindor hastily supplemented. “Not the saving Harry Potter bit or the screaming like a girl bit,” Harry offhandedly joked, smirking. Of course, Malfoy was concerned about his Slytherin reputation. He wouldn’t want to be caught dead striking truces with icky noble Gryffindors.

“OK,” Draco lightly acquiesced. He didn’t trust himself to say more because he was afraid Harry would be able to hear the thundering of his heart between his words. It was nothing like he had imagined, hearing Harry ask for a cease-fire between the two of them. It was priceless. It was something he’d been waiting for for the longest time. And he didn’t really care that it was all just part of a dream. For him, it was real.

“Shall we?” Harry asked. Draco hoisted himself up from the mud and followed Harry’s already moving figure.

Before either of them could feel the need to take a breather again, Harry gasped and halted. “I think I see something. A break in the trees…some kind of clearing,” he motioned towards a crack of white light, no longer shrouded by fingers of foliage. It bolstered the little energy they had and hoisted themselves up the path with renewed vigor.

Harry, who was still in front of Draco, shoved the tangle of shrubbery away from the feeble crack of dusty light and the morning sun flooded their vision that Draco momentarily averted his eyes from the dazzling glow.

They had finally reached the mountaintop.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! We're about halfway into the story now as far as the chapter count goes... So thanks to all those who have left Kudos on this work! I could do with a bit more comments but hey--beggars can't be choosers. ^_^
> 
> If you guys are also interested in the Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (of the Marvel Cinematic Universe persuasion) pairing, please check out the my currently WIP story WWW.STEM.ORG posted also here on Ao3!
> 
> Well... here goes...

“Wow,” Harry heaved himself up and set foot onto the grassy mesa that was the mountaintop. Draco practically crawled on all fours right behind Harry and collapsed on his back with a gasp of relief. He splayed his arms perpendicular to his body and closed his eyes, a slight grin on his muddied face.

Harry whistled. “Great view… It even makes that infernal hell of a climb well worth it,” he observed, walking away from the sedentary form of Draco to explore the rest of the summit.

The mesa was carpeted with thick grass and strewn with white and red rose petals from the wild rose bushes on the perimeter. There were a few huge boulders, covered with bright green lichen and sometimes dotted by vivid red and blue wild flowers. A collapsed tree, likewise wrapped in lichen, was sprawled on the ground like a majestic divan on nature’s sitting room, its long-dead branches reaching out towards the sky. Vines had twisted themselves around the branches, clothing the naked and wet wood with green garb. The stump of the fallen tree, its distorted roots peeking from the grassy earth, was by the foot of the moss-covered log, pushed against a wall of thick and very pink bougainvilleas.

The shrubs by the tree stump began rustling, and Harry nearly cursed in surprise when a white horse with flowing silvery hair on its crown and its rear emerged from the foliage. The white horse was tethered to the tree stump with rough and worn out leather reins. The horse issued a soft neigh and stomped on the ground with its front hoof that even Draco raised himself up to lean on his elbows to look at where the sounds could have come from.

“Is that a _horse_?” Draco’s sharp intake of breath took Harry out of his reverie at the quite uncommon snapshot in front of him.

“I wonder how he could’ve gotten here, and who tied him all the way up here,” Draco further remarked, returning to his reclining position by the path where they had emerged from.

The black-haired boy traversed the expanse of the mountain’s peak to the other slope, opposite the one they took to get there, and saw that it had a gentler incline. A horse would not have had any difficulty traveling through it. “The mountain has a gentler slope on the other side,” Harry called out to his companion.

Draco didn’t answer. Harry thought the other boy might have fallen asleep because of exhaustion that the former didn’t press the latter for a reply. “So you think it just sort of wandered here by itself?” Draco was awake after all; he was only unmoving because his muscles had all atrophied due to fatigue.

“I dunno,” Harry muttered softly. It was very mysterious to find a horse with no owner on top of the mountain that had nearly killed both of them, in a most fucked-up dream with no conceivable egress in sight. “Do you think maybe we’re not alone? That there are other people here?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. We’ve been here for goodness-knows-how-long without running into anyone,” Draco reasoned. “Except the horse,” he finished, mildly interested now at the magnificent animal.

Draco stood up and walked over to where Harry was standing and propped a foot on top of a moss-covered boulder. “You weren’t lying about the view,” he commented.

Blue-capped mountains were like imposing statues of gods in the distance. It was hard to tell where the mountains ended and the heavens began. Every curve of the mountains against the sky and every fold of the terrain, seemingly beneath their feet was before them. Trees, taller than any they’d seen in the Forbidden Forest, looked like they were paying homage to their masters: the two humans who were ogling their beauty from atop the mountain. Birds soared over the peaks of the mountain range, dipping through the silver-lined cumulus clouds that hovered over the mountains, and sometimes covered them in a misty veil.

A gust of wind blew over the two boys and petals danced before their eyes. “Hello!” Harry cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. His voice echoed over and over, bouncing against the mountains, the valley below them where a sparkling river followed the curves of the terrain like a silver snake, the trunks of the towering trees covering every surface of this world.

“I’m Harry Potter! Is anybody out there?” Harry yelled again, his voice reverberating through the valley again. No response was yelled back.

“You’re making my head ache, Potter. No one’s out there,” Draco took his foot off the boulder and plopped down on it instead. “It’s like an entire world out here,” the blonde murmured.

Harry raised his arms to his sides, as if to embrace the world and hooted at the top of his lungs. Wind blew over them again, ruffling Harry’s already wild black hair. He dropped to the ground beside the boulder where Draco was sitting and folded his legs in front of him. “Which is why it’s harder to believe that no one’s out there. That’s a valley below us; we can take the horse after we get some rest to go find a town where we can get supplies.”

“How do you propose we pay for those supplies? Do we rip our teeth out or maybe our hair?”

“Why are you so negative, Malfoy?” Harry turned to gaze at the other boy, his tone that of amusement.

“We are stuck in _a dream_ , Potter. We nearly died twice already. We haven’t got potable water. We haven’t got wands. We haven’t got a change of clothes. We are dying for a bath in a proper bathroom. We haven’t even got two Knuts between the two of us to rub together. We are hungry, dirty, tired, sore, bored, oh and we are _trapped_ without any imaginable way out. Did I forget anything? And here you are asking me why I’m being negative,” Draco recited while looking down on Harry who was plopped on the grass beside him, the strain of the past couple of days finally taking its toll.

“At least now we don’t have to walk to travel. We can take him,” Harry said, pointing to the horse that was casually feeding on the grass at its feet.

“One more creature on the happy caravan. Can’t wait,” Draco mumbled.

Harry stood up from the ground and dusted his already filthy trousers quite pointlessly and walked over to where the horse was tethered. He stretched his hand out to pet the new addition to their team. “Do you think maybe he knows the exit?”

Draco twisted around to look at Harry and scoffed, “Why don’t you ask him?” Then, he turned again to look at the valley with a slight shake of his head. The strain was obviously loosening a few bolts in their machinery.

“Hey there, big guy, do you think you can take us to the exit? Or a town where we can buy some food and a change of clothes would be nice, too. So how about it?” Harry asked, petting the horse’s long mane of silver hair. The horse grunted and snorted. Draco, though unseen by Harry, was rolling his eyes in mock consternation.

“Have you gotten anything out of the interrogation yet?” Draco hollered from his throne nearer the gentler slope of the mountain.

Harry stayed silent. The only sound that could be heard was the horse’s hoof pawing through the ground. “If we’re going to take him with us, I reckon we should name him. What do you think, Malfoy?”

“Your attic’s caved in, Potter. First you talk to the horse and now you want to name him. I don’t even want to know what’s next,” Draco stood up and walked to the spot where Harry was gently caressing the horse’s flanks.

“Don’t mind the sarcasm, Draco,” Harry murmured to the horse. “The mean boy is just cranky.”

Draco looked at his companion and almost bored a hole into Harry’s head. “You like your new name, Draco?” Harry asked, his lips twitching into a slight smile and his eyes still refusing to meet the blonde’s gray ones.

“You are not naming the horse Draco, Potter,” Draco threatened.

“He’s got to have a name. We can’t keep calling him ‘horse’.”

“Why not? He _is_ one. You can call him _Monkey_. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Draco exclaimed.

“We’re going to avail of his services. If we just refer to him as ‘horse,’ it’s offensive,” Harry argued. “I mean, you don’t want to be referred to as ‘asshole’ even if you are one, most of the time.” The Gryffindor glared back at the Slytherin and raised his dark eyebrows as if challenging the other boy to argue himself out of that.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but came up with nothing. He just scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “Give him any god-damned name you want, but you can’t call him Draco!” He stomped away from Harry again to reclaim his previous seat on the moss-covered boulder by the gentler slope and slumped his shoulders. So much for their truce…

It was really difficult to have to let go of something that had already become second nature to both of them. They’d hated each other’s guts for as long as they could remember, taunted each other to the point of hexes that it had ceased to matter that there wasn’t even anyone around to witness their verbal war. Draco was under the impression that the lack of other people for whom appearances must be kept would’ve eased their change in treatment of each other. But it seemed that appearances had to be kept more for themselves, to retain a semblance of normalcy, than for others.

 _When will the uncomfortable silences be dispensed with? I hate silence._ Draco thought. Harry seemed much more interested at petting the horse than talking to him. _That’s because the horse is not hostile, unlike you. Every word that comes out of your mouth offends Harry. It’s like you were born for that purpose alone: to insult Harry._

“I’m sorry,” Harry awkwardly said, taking Draco out of his self-reprimanding reverie. Draco turned to look at the uncertain-looking young man standing beside him, disbelievingly. “I called a truce, but I am the one who can’t seem to stop provoking you.” Harry started to fidget with the tattered sleeves of his robes, but he plowed on ahead. “I just thought… I don’t know… that your name’s kind of… cool, I guess.”

“If you think so, then why do you call me by my surname?” Draco asked, but the moment it was out of his mouth, he grimaced, anticipating some snarky reply from the Gryffindor.

“Out of habit,” Harry admitted. “Because it’s what people expect. _You_ call me by my last name, too. So I’m just returning the favor.”

A gust of wind blew over the mesa again. Petals and fallen leaves swirled over the silent figures of the two boys. “What do we do now?” Draco thought the question was ambiguous enough, and he meant a lot of things by it. _How do we call each other now? What do we talk about now given our precarious truce? What do we name the fucking horse? How do we get out of here? Why do you hate me so much, and what can I do to make you change your opinion of me? Why do you have to still be fucking gorgeous even with a face full of caked mud, and why don’t you look at me again with those amazing green eyes of yours?_

“I named the horse Pegasus,” Harry sheepishly exclaimed.

 _Well, at least he got one out of eight…_ “Did he like it?”

“Sure. We can leave whenever you’re ready.” And with that, Harry silently turned around to leave Draco to his musings again.

Harry busied himself with untying Pegasus’s reins from the tree stump to keep him from feeling like he had to talk to Draco or else he would go out of his mind. It seemed as if there was nothing to do in this dream but argue with Draco over small things, come close to dying or sustain two minutes of pointless conversation in between protracted periods of mind-numbing silence. _It’s like I have a choice between dying of boredom now and dying from something remarkably more painful later… hmm, decisions, decisions…_

Finally, Harry got the reins untied and he shepherded the horse towards the gentler slope on the other side, where Draco was still seated, silently drinking in the sights of the valley below. “I’ve never ridden a horse bareback before,” Draco said, his eyebrows narrowed and his expression that of worry.

“Neither have I,” Harry answered, and gulped down an elaboration that he had never ridden a horse before, bareback or otherwise. “But how hard can it be?”

“In any case, you might want to retie Pegasus again because it looks like we’ll be staying here for the night,” Draco said. He motioned for Harry to gaze at the cleft between two huge mountains in front of them where the sun was quickly sinking in explosions of orange, red, pink and purple. 

Draco made himself comfortable on the grassy ground, making a pillow out of the fallen tree trunk while Harry retied the horse to the stump. Truly exhausted, Draco was already fast asleep by the time Harry joined him on the log. Harry settled a few paces beside Draco, propping his arm against the log to cushion the back of his head and to angle him in such a way as to see the skies better.

The darkness was penetrating, like it had already been dark for hours. It would have been completely impossible to see if there hadn’t been clouds of brightly burning stars above. The wind was cool against his skin that was sunburned, crusted with dried mud and severely scratched by low hanging branches. Harry turned to the sleeping form of his companion and, in the feeble light of the stars, saw a slight frown grazing the otherwise peaceful face of the pale-haired boy.

The silence in the mesa engulfed Harry, and he fell eventually into slumber.

Another gust of wind flew over the mesa, combing through its occupants. Loose petals caressed Draco’s closed eyelids, his cheeks, as well as parts of his skin that were exposed to the evening breeze. The frown on his face deepened. There was something tickling the far corners of his mind, something about the horse that was innocently tied to the base of the gnarled tree, the flying white and red petals in the swirling winds, the stars burning in the curtain of the darkest sky, the building warmth in the core of his being, lips against his earlobe, hot, slippery tongue on his neck. There was something eerily familiar with the place and the sensations. But the memory was like a candle light burning in a dark stadium… feeble. The darkness ate it up before Draco could take a hold of the fire.

Draco’s eyes snapped open to darkness. It had gotten cold; his fingers were practically numb, but he paid them no mind. What he was more concerned about was the chill running up his spine, the furious drumming of his heart against his chest. He had been dreaming of something… _Damn, who knew it was even possible to dream within a dream?!_

He hastily stood up and took a seat on the boulder that had become such a comfort zone for him, facing the slumbering Harry instead of the sprawling valley below. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands over a knee, the beginnings of panic seeping into his bones. _What was I dreaming about? What was it?_ He wanted to wake the Gryffindor up to rant to him, maybe if he just talked, whatever it was he was dreaming about would slip out of his mouth. But Draco observed that Harry was dead-asleep, his arms wrapped around his body that was hunched in a fetal position.

Harry looked so peaceful, so delicate when he was asleep. It was difficult to believe that the child-like form hid a powerful spirit that enthralled even Draco himself.

The Slytherin stood up and shrugged out of his frayed robes. He walked over to Harry’s sleeping figure and spread his robes over the black-haired boy’s motionless body, the chill up his own spine forgotten.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Harry cleared his throat and Draco turned his head in time to see the former proffering back the latter’s tattered robes. “Thanks for this,” Harry said with a tight-lipped smile.

“You were cold.” _Of course he was cold, idiot! What could he have done with your robes—wiped his arse with it?_

“Good morning,” Harry greeted him with a slight yawn. It was quite misplaced because it was still dark. It looked like dawn was not for a couple more hours. “We’ve been sleeping for, like, ten hours and it’s still night time. How weird is that?”

“Very,” Draco agreed. He stood up from his boulder and slipped his robes on. It wasn’t that much of a comfort from the cold evening air.

“You were up early,” the Gryffindor exclaimed. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied. It was no use telling Harry about what really woke him up because even he could barely remember. “I got a little worried about riding the horse without a saddle. I’m quite concerned about my bones staying the way they are and riding bareback is contradictory to that concern.”

“So you’d rather walk?”

 _Good point._ “I guess trying it out is not going to hurt,” Draco acceded.

“How about if you untie Pegasus while I go scrounge up something to eat? I think I saw some bushes of wild berries when we got here.” Harry hugged his threadbare robes closer to his body and walked away.

“We’re not leaving now, are we?” Draco hollered. “I don’t fancy riding a horse bareback in the fucking dark, Potter!”

It was only when Harry emerged from the bougainvillea bushes that he replied, “Well—we don’t really know when the sun is going to rise, do we? We can’t stay here because we are going to need more than a couple of wild berries to survive. We’ve had our rest; I think it’s high time that we leave to find a settlement of some sort.”

Draco was about to complain again when Harry thrust his hand, full of wild dark purple berries, against the blonde’s face. “Breakfast of champions,” he said, a lopsided grin on his lips.

“Those might be poisonous, Potter.”

“Hmm, dying now or dying later? We have to eat _something_ ; we don’t know how long it’ll be before we find anything remotely edible again.” Harry took a berry from his own palm and shot it into his mouth, despite Draco’s wordless gasp of further warning. “I don’t feel anything… go on…”

Not without a hint of apprehension, Draco took a smallish berry from the bunch and nibbled on it. He had tasted Jamaican cherries only once before, and these dark purple berries reminded him of the very sweet, addictive taste and fragrant odor of Jamaican cherries.

He and Harry polished off the lot. They tasted nice but they weren’t very filling.

“Looks like you don’t have to worry about riding the horse in the dark anymore.” Harry nodded at the steadily lightening sky. Draco just stared open-mouthed at the heavens.

“So… what’ll it be, front end or rear end?” Harry wiped his hand clean on his robes and jerked his head towards the horse, the reins of which was still grasped in Draco’s other hand.

After a couple more minutes of internal debate on the part of Draco, he decided to take the rear, offered to give a Harry a boost to mount and accepted Harry’s help to hoist himself up the horse’s back as well.

“Go Pegasus, Heehaw!” Harry beat his legs against the horse’s side. Draco held on tighter to Harry’s shoulders as Pegasus shot off in a leisurely walk down the mountain.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to those who have left Kudos and comments since the last chappie was posted. Keep 'em coming please please...^__^
> 
> Note that Harry, in the universe where this story is based, is still a Parselmouth despite Voldy's kicking the bucket. Oh and I HAVE NO IDEA how to safely administer first aid for snake bites. I just thought I'd write what feels practical. So you have been warned...
> 
> Here we go...

Jolt. Jolt. Nudge. Nudge. “It’s kind of…” Jolt. Nudge. “…I don’t know…” Jerk. Shudder. “…bumpy…” Shudder. Jolt. “…don’t you think?”  The most magnificent headache was beginning to blossom in Draco’s head. The green of the foliage, the yellow of the sunlight peeking through the gaps in the canopy of the trees, the pale brown of the dry earth underneath the horse’s hooves and the raven of Harry’s windswept hair were all blending in a kaleidoscope of colors, making Draco’s vision blur and his stomach turn. It was clearly the least ideal way to travel.

“At least, we’re making progress!” Harry hollered, twisting his head a little to catch a glimpse of his blonde, nauseated-looking passenger.

“To where, exactly? We don’t really know where we’re going. The fact that wherever the hell that is, we’re getting there _quickly_ , doesn’t give me the fuzzies of comfort, Potter!” Draco hollered back. They were galloping much too fast through the valley in Draco’s opinion.

There was absolutely nothing to see. If he had suggested that they play _I Spy_ , they would have given up three minutes into the hard ride through the young forest. _Too much green is making my head hurt!_ Draco wondered morosely what kind of self-respecting Slytherin that made him!

“The advantage to not knowing where we’re going is that we can’t get lost!” Harry had the gall to joke.

“Very funny. Don’t expect Gryffindor points for that.”

They continued the merciless gallop through the unknown in silence for what seemed like hours until Harry hastily pulled the reins to change their course, which before then had been straight and relatively uneventful. “Whoa Pegasus,” Harry said. The horse slowed to a trot and Draco saw that Harry was leading them to a small brook. “My guess is that is a tributary of the river that runs through this valley. It should be clean enough to drink.” He pulled the reins and the horse stopped with a snort by the banks.

Draco breathed an audible sigh of relief and slid off the horse. He knelt by the banks, cupped water in his palms and drank. It was cold and very soothing to his parched throat and chapped lips. Yanking his shoes and filthy socks off, he watched while Harry tied Pegasus’s reins to the trunk of a huge, unfamiliar-looking tree by the water’s edge.

The black-haired young man knelt beside Draco and imitated the latter, taking his shoes and socks off and arranging them in a pile by the gnarled roots of the tree where Pegasus was secured. He then proceeded to take the rest of his garb off and hang them over the trees’ roots. Draco just stupidly watched on, disbelieving that for the second time in this hellish nightmare, Harry was disrobing voluntarily before him.

“Can’t you keep your clothes on, Potter?” Draco asked, fighting the growing warmth in his cheeks. He was also averting his eyes to keep from looking at the Gryffindor’s toned chest and…well…the rest of his body. He had even begun fiddling with his grimy sock to take his mind off Harry’s state of undress.

“I don’t know about you but I need a bath, not to mention, our clothes badly need a wash. There’s an accumulation of buckets of mud on them, if you haven’t noticed. I’d’ve thought you of all people would be concerned about that,” Harry stated in a matter-of-fact tone before pushing himself off the banks and into the water, leaving Draco ogling after him, clenching his soiled sock in his palm like a stress ball.

“I prefer to bathe in a proper bathroom,” Draco called after Harry, who had already disappeared beneath the water’s surface. “I don’t need to remind you of the last time I thought it was safe to bathe in a stream.”

“Nothing was going to eat your butt, Malfoy. It was just all in your head.” Harry had begun scrubbing filth off his hair, face and neck with his hands. It was starting to make Draco utterly uncomfortable to see Harry washing his body in such a familiar manner.

 _Uhm, butts and heads… this conversation needs to be steered to less innuendo-laden subjects._ The way the conversation was going was not helping Draco’s predicament.

“Toss my clothes, will you?” Harry held his arms up and nodded towards his hastily hung clothes against the gnarled roots. Draco dutifully threw the clothes to their owner, one garment after the other and took his old seat by the brook, unmindful of Harry’s advice that he should take a dip, too.

Harry waded through the water to the shallower part nearest Draco and started laundering his dirty robes, twisting them in his hands and rubbing the wet cloth against itself to loosen the mud that had hardened in the fabric. Draco, with concealed fascination, watched the other boy scrub the muck off his clothes. He watched Harry pinch the soaked fabric between his fingers, twist it and vigorously scrub it by scraping his hands against each other. It perked Draco’s interest immensely that Harry’s biceps looked next to delectable while doing an otherwise menial chore.

“It would’ve been better if we had detergent, but this’ll have to do to get the muck off,” Harry said, looking at Draco who was obviously making an effort to appear apathetic but it couldn’t be helped that mild interest was showing in his face. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to wash your clothes? We haven’t changed since we got here and we swam in muck, slept on the gravel, rode through clouds of dust… Are you absolutely sure you’d rather keep your clothes the way they are?”

“Why? Are you offering to wash my clothes, Potter?”

“Keep wishing, Malfoy. They’re _your_ clothes. _You_ wash them,” Harry snorted. Draco noticed though, that Harry had said it almost good-naturedly, lacking the usual amount of venom that characterized their conduct since this misfortune started. “And think about getting a bath, too while you’re at it.”

“Why don’t you just admit that you can’t wait to see me in my boxers again?” Draco retorted, testing the unspoken and very subtle change in their manner towards each other.

“If only to have something to laugh at while we’re stuck in this infernal shithole,” Harry teased back with a titter. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.” Harry chuckled, but Draco couldn’t help but notice that Harry’s ears had grown red and it wasn’t because of sunburn.

Draco disrobed albeit he was a little apprehensive about it, and began washing his robes hesitatingly that were beginning to look the worse for wear. He kept glancing at Harry, imitating the other boy’s movements when it came to washing clothes. He had never so much as washed a handkerchief, and had no idea what the elves did to make his soiled garments look and feel fresh.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Draco nodded towards Harry’s expert fingers that were scrubbing the soil off his clothing.

“I used to wash my uncle’s family’s clothes by hand whenever the washing machine broke down and my aunt was too lazy to do it herself, which was like, every fucking time,” Harry said, as if it was just natural. Draco noted that it was something all of the history books about the Great Harry Potter failed to mention.

“Didn’t they have servants to do that? And what’s a washing machine?”

“No, they had _me_ ,” Harry stated, twisting his arms to wring the robes dry, and his ears burnt at what he had just said. He carefully placed the twisted robes on a pile of smooth stones, grouped together above the water by the banks of the brook. He refused to meet Draco’s eyes. “And a washing machine is a muggle device that washes clothes…but don’t ask me anything else about it because I’ll never be able to explain and you’ll never be able to understand!” He rambled on to distract the other boy.

Draco ignored that last part though, and concentrated on what appeared to have slipped out of Harry’s mouth unwittingly.

“It had never crossed your mind to get back at them? Not even once?” Draco didn’t need to ask for an elaboration of exactly how Harry’s relatives had treated him.

“What for?” Harry started working on his tattered shirt, dipping it in the water and vigorously scrubbing it. “It won’t take back the eleven years of cruelty that I had to endure from them. It would just be a waste of energy—a waste of magic.”

“Are all Gryffindors masochistic or is it just you?” Draco asked, his tone actually that of admiration that Harry could be so…forgiving. If it were him, he’d have cursed the whole lot of them to oblivion.

“No, it’s just me. I reckon Hermione or Ron wouldn’t think twice about hexing them as revenge if they’d ever have the opportunity; maybe Hermione not so much, but Ron, definitely” Harry replied with a lopsided grin.

“You know—they’re probably doing everything they can to wake you up right now,” Draco murmured then returned his attention to awkwardly scrubbing his clothes, letting the comment about Harry’s friends slide.He grimaced inwardly; what was he doing, mentioning Harry’s friends like he was familiar with them—like he hadn’t been insulting them since they all started in Hogwarts together? But as the words escaped his lips, he knew they were true. Harry was such a great friend that Weasley and Granger must be having nerve pops, one after the other, trying to wrack their brains for a way to get Harry back.

“As I’m sure your friends are also doing,” the Gryffindor stated, turning his head to look at the Slytherin whose attention was almost entirely commanded by washing his clothes, possibly for the first time in his life.

“I doubt that. Friendship doesn’t mean the same thing to Slytherins as it does to Gryffindors,” the blonde informed the other, as if it were a widely accepted fact in all the books known to Wizard kind.

Draco clumsily tried to wring his robes dry but it was still sopping wet when he slapped it against the pile of stones where Harry’s laundered robes had been placed. Draco was taking the rest of his clothes off when he noticed Harry grab his, Draco’s, still wet robes from the pile of rocks to wring it dry himself. “It’ll take a lot longer to air dry if it’s not wrung properly,” Harry softly explained before returning to his washing, tight-lipped.

The blonde plunged into the brook himself and carried on washing the rest of his grubby clothes in silence, with Harry beside him, scrubbing his own pile with identical vigor. They were content in working in silence; only the sounds of the flowing brook and their squishing clothes could be heard.

When their clothes were already hanging to dry on the tree branches, the two young men settled by the banks of the brook, seated on huge, smooth rocks in the canopy of the huge tree, air drying their bodies, clad only in their boxers. Harry began to look around for possible sources of food. “I’m a little hungry. I wonder what can pass for food around here.”

The blonde looked up at the tree, under which they were housed against the elements. Now that he had taken a closer look at it, he realized he’s seen fruits like those before. “How about mangoes?” Draco eyes met Harry’s with a questioning look.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Once their clothes were dry, their thirst sated, and they’d taken some two dozen mangoes that they wrapped and tied to the horse using their black robes, the rivals-turned-allies rode away from the brook to their unknown destination.

The scenery changed from closely packed infantile trees and clover-covered earth to open grasslands, rolling hills and tall pines and evergreens, reaching for the blue sky which was dotted with feathery cirrus clouds. The two rode hard and fast through the spacious fields with Harry clutching Pegasus’s leather reins and Draco latching on to Harry’s shoulder to keep from sliding off their steed.

They only took breaks from their journey to nibble on mangoes for sustenance and to relieve themselves. Draco had found it hard at first to warm up to the idea of shitting or peeing in the open, within a few meters from Harry, but he had learned to swallow the discomfort. There was also something innately wrong with wiping his privates with leaves after he performed a deed, but it was leaves or nothing. Of course, he picked the leaves. For his part, Harry was equally uncomfortable with the whole set-up. But they had to make do.

“We have to stop whether it’s nighttime or not, we’re all dead on our feet, Potter,” Draco called from the rear of the horse when they’ve already been riding for what felt like hours on end. And before Harry could reply, Draco pointed to what looked like ruins in the distance. “Look over there.”

The horse approached the ruins with caution, guided by the apprehension of his riders. The pillars were crumbling and run over by vines, but they were unmistakably pillars of some sort of stronghold that must have been a sprawling building hundreds of years ago. Harry dismounted, and his feet fell on pale granite debris and loose earth. The light of the day slowly but undoubtedly faded to dusk as Draco dismounted Pegasus himself.

“I wonder who lived here,” Draco craned his neck around to look at what was left of the ceiling and the marble beams overhead.

“Hey,” Harry hastened to the far corner of the ruins and pointed to a makeshift shelter made from twigs, dried leaves and twill, held together by a coarse rope. There were scraps of cloth, rusted tins cups and a kettle in disarray.

“They certainly don’t look fresh. Looks like no one’s been here in ages,” Draco murmured, toeing the tin cups from their chaotic order. “But it seems as if you were right, Potter.”

“About what?” Harry knelt down by the blackened rocks that looked like remnants of a long-dead fire.

“People. That there might be people here. Though the circumstances as to why they’re here in the first place just astound me. Aren’t we in some sort of dream? How the hell could _they_ have gotten here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they were trapped here, like us,” Harry picked one of the tin cups from the ground and inspected it for anything that might give them a clue as to the identities of the people who had set up camp there.

“I wonder what could’ve happened to them. Do you think maybe they got out?” Draco asked. He turned his body to look around the area for any telltale signs of life but there was nothing. There was just the inky darkness, the silence interrupted by Pegasus’s soft snorts, and the barely audible footsteps of the present occupants of the camp.

“I hope so,” Harry turned his back to Draco and bent down to gather the lengths of coarse rope and pieces of twill scattered on the ground. There was a makeshift dagger made from a sharp rock, its hilt and holder were made from some sort of animal skin. Draco, on the other hand, untied their load of mangoes from Pegasus, and hugged it close to his body as he settled on the bundle of dirty cloth that looked like a makeshift sleeping bag and leaned on a jutting rock that looked like it had once been part of a wall. He was exhausted.

“Come on,” Harry said. “Help me find some wood and dried leaves for a fire.” Draco got up, surprisingly without a biting remark at having been asked to do more manual labor, and started gathering dried leaves that were actually in abundance in their newfound shelter.

Once the fire was big enough, the two settled on opposite ends of the crude sleeping bag. Draco was still looking around, still astounded that they actually stumbled upon a place once inhabited by other humans in what was supposedly their dream. “Wait a minute,” Draco gasped, suddenly realizing something. “The brook where we washed our clothes—I’ve seen that place before!”

“Where?” Harry was instantly alert.

“Blaise’s estate. We used to play there when we were young. They had a man-made brook there with a mango tree on its banks. But we weren’t supposed to be in that part of the estate. We ran away from our nannies and we found ourselves there. We must have been six or seven years old then. We got lost; we were so scared. We thought we’d never find our way back from the brook to the mansion. My father was so mad at what we’d done,” Draco narrated, lost in thought. It was like he was transported back to that time when he, Pansy and Blaise had got lost in that part of the Zabini estate.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Draco trailed off, his eyes wandered the desolate ruins once more, trying to call forth long forgotten memories of places he’d been to. “This place looks awfully familiar, too, now that I think about it.”

“There used to be ruins in our manor grounds. Father said the building used to be where my great-great grandfathers tortured their enemies and their stubborn servants. That the building used to house arms for our family’s private army—“

“Your family had a _private army_?” Harry interrupted Draco’s narration, his jaw slack.

“Yes, we did, but the servants got wise. In an uprising led by some of them, the Malfoy stronghold was attacked. When I was ten, a year before I started in Hogwarts, I came across the ruins. I was running away from home because Father and I argued about something. I wanted to leave the manor without him knowing, so I took an unconventional way and stumbled upon the ruins. It had never been touched from the time the stronghold was attacked. The servants were afraid of it; I never did find out why. While I was there, I was dead scared, too—like someone was watching me, waiting to attack.” Draco picked a piece of twill from what was left of the concrete floor. “It looked just like this… at least from what I remember,” Draco dropped the twill again.

Harry stiffened. “So these places—you’ve been to some of them?”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen them in a long time, just vague recollections of these places. So, I guess you’re right… again,” Draco admitted in defeat.

“About what?”

“That this is _my_ dream. I mean, how do you explain the fact that I’ve seen these ruins before when I was ten and that brook a long, long time ago?” Draco folded his legs in front of him and hugged his knees close to his chest.

Harry opened his mouth to reply when a shiver ran up his spine. No—Draco wasn’t the only one who’d been to some of the places they’ve been to in this ‘dreamland’. “The waterfalls and the steep mountain path.”

“What about them?”

“Remember I told you that I’ve been dreaming of Voldemort? And that in those dreams, he was trying to kill me? Well, the falls—there was this dream I had that Voldemort was advancing on me and I was walking backwards away from him and I fell—off a waterfall and there was nothing to hold on to. I kept on falling…”

Draco sat still, listening to Harry’s recollection of having seen the waterfall before. His silver gray eyes wide with wonder.

“And there was another dream I had that I was hanging off the side of a mountain, on a very steep slope. I was holding on to a rope, a vine—something, but Voldemort came and then I was falling and his laughter just echoed over and over as I fell,” Harry’s voice faded to silence. “I guess that’s what made me think that you should let go that time I lost my footing, remember?”

“If you’ve had dreams about the same places here and I have actually been to some of them as well, only that it was a long time ago, what’s that supposed to mean? That this is a dream we _share_?” Draco suddenly felt cold. “And why is it only now that we realize the familiarity of these places?”

“I don’t know.” Harry absolutely hated saying those words. He hated not knowing. “Hermione once told me that dreams are manifestations of our deepest desires and greatest fears. We see them because our minds are most receptive when we are asleep than when we are awake. I guess that means even our unconscious is open to us in slumber, that those memories that we have locked up away from our conscious thought become accessible to us through our dreams.”

“This is so eerie,” Draco whispered. Wind blew over the derelict pillars and beams of the structure, shaking their improvised shelter and making the feeble fire dance to the distant and discordant howls of the night.

“But think of it this way: the fact that we’ve dreamt about these places or seen them before could very well give us the clues that we need to be able to get out of here,” Harry said, picking a crooked stick up from the ground to stoke the fire with it. “We’ll just have to think really hard about what we see from now on so that we can remember if we’ve seen them before.”

Draco licked his lips and nodded softly. The discomfort that he felt while they were on the mesa at the top of the mountain started to eat at him again. He knew there was something there, too. But maybe, whatever that was will come to him again when he least expected it, like what happened now.

He was about to lower his legs to rest on the ground when he saw Harry narrow his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I thought I—“ But Harry’s voice died in his lips as his eyes widened and his body stiffen. “Malfoy—don’t do any sudden movements.”

“Wha—what? Why?” He dropped the entire length of his legs on the ground and opened his mouth in a silent scream when he saw a snake, its black and green scales glittering in the fire light, slither against his leg. Draco momentarily stopped breathing, his mouth still open in a soundless cry of panic. Before he could stop himself, however, a whimper escaped from his lips.

What happened next took both of them by surprise. One moment the snake was just slithering by Draco’s left leg and the next, its fangs were buried in his left calf. Draco positively screeched and Harry stood up with a shrill cry in Parseltongue to scare the snake away.

“Shit!” Harry dropped to his knees by Draco’s body and began quick work to roll Draco’s trouser leg higher up his bitten calf. “I told you not to make sudden movements!”

“I’m sorry if I got scared! They’re not _my_ best chums, if you must know!” Draco bit his lower lip hard as Harry tied a short length of rope around his calf, above and below and the bite mark. “What are you going to do?”

“We have to get as much of the venom out. This is going to sting. Hang on,” Harry said, and with gritted teeth, he used the crude knife he had found earlier to make a bigger incision on the wound in spite of Draco’s panicked cries of pain.

Draco hands were clenched on his sides and his teeth were bared because the wound had begun to hurt like a bitch. Harry bent over Draco’s left calf and while pinching the wound, he closed his mouth over the lesion and began to suck on it. The Slytherin had opened his mouth to complain to his companion but the protests all died in his throat when he felt Harry’s warm mouth against his leg

 _If we weren’t in a life-or-death situation, this would actually be quite erotic._ Draco mused, sucking his lips into his tightly-clenched mouth. _Harry is sucking on my leg. I must have done something really, really nice because this is the best reward ever. Oh if I had known getting bitten by a snake would get me this kind of attention from Harry, I’d have arranged to be bitten every day since we got here…_ Draco closed his eyes to relish the feel of Harry’s mouth on his smarting leg, the tingle of the sucking pressure and the warmth of both of Harry’s hands resting on his leg, a part of him was telling himself that he had gone bonkers to have such sappy thoughts.

Harry straightened up, spat on his side and then repeated sucking from the wound. He did the same procedure a couple more times before he deigned to look at Draco to check on how the latter was feeling only to catch the blonde with his eyes closed and mouth slack.

“Malfoy?”

There was no response.

 _Merlin, let this moment go on, please… please. I could really get used to this._ Draco fought the urge to moan in personal ecstasy.

“Malfoy!”

“What?” The blonde’s eyes snapped open and he met Harry’s worried green ones.

“How’re you feeling?” Harry asked, worry and urgency creeping into his voice. His hands were still comfortable on Draco’s left leg. And his lips were tinged with Draco’s blood, making them fuller and, if it was even possible, more temptingly kissable.

 _Giddy with ecstasy…_ “It’s burning.” _My leg could fall off right now, and I doubt if I would even give a rat’s arse!_ “What are you trying to do anyway?” _Aside from making me want to strip your clothes off from your body…_

“I’m sucking the venom out. We don’t know how much is circulating in your system right now, but I think I got most of it out. Does it hurt much?” Harry pinched the area around the wound and waited for Draco’s reaction.

“It stings when you do that. But—“

“Can you still feel your leg?”

 _I’d feel it a lot better if you’d keep doing what you were doing…_ “Yeah.”

“I’d suggest that we keep traveling to find a doctor, but both of us and Pegasus are tired. The tourniquet should hold up. You should get some rest while I keep watch. Let’s hope your condition won’t worsen, but once it does—we have to hit the road again,” Harry explained. Draco nodded mutely.

As the former stood up to leave, Draco called, “Potter—“

Harry stopped and turned to look at his companion.

“Don’t go too far, OK?” Draco winced. It wasn’t because of his stinging wound, the pain of which had subsided to a dull throb, but because of how scared and needy he sounded. He couldn’t tell how Harry was going to take it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Get some rest,” Harry felt something tug within him and replied with a soft smile. He walked a couple of steps away from Draco and settled down on their crude mat, by the fire’s glow, still within reach of his ailing companion.

The Slytherin, for his part, reclined on the mat in a position most comfortable to him given his injury, tucked his arm under his head and closed his eyes to get some sleep.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

During the night, Draco had developed a slight fever and started shivering. Harry reclaimed their robes from their mango stash and threw the robes over Draco’s body. He refashioned a new satchel for the mangoes using the twill and the coarse rope and tied it anew to Pegasus’s back. He was cutting the twill into kerchief sizes using the crude dagger when Draco started to moan.

“I’m cold,” Draco murmured, almost inaudible. “Don’t leave. Please stay with me. I’m so cold.” Draco hugged himself tighter in spite of the added warmth of Harry’s robes over his body.

Harry knelt beside Draco and placed his palm against the Slytherin’s forehead, which was dotted by beads of sweat. It was warm to the touch. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Harry softly said, mopping Draco’s forehead with one of the kerchief-sized twill.

“Don’t leave, Harry. I’m so cold,” Draco mumbled as he was turning on his right side, so that his back was turned towards Harry.

The additional robes were tucked better around the blonde boy’s body. Harry smiled when he realized that Draco had called him by his name.

After the Gryffindor had already folded all of the smaller pieces of twill and tucked it in the satchel where the mango stash was, Harry lay down beside Draco and faced the embers of the dying fire, his arm tucked against the side of his head.

“Good night…” Harry whispered to the evening wind. The warmth pressed against his back was soothing in the biting cold. He didn’t care that it was unheard by the ears of the person he was with. “…Draco.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left their Kudos and comments to this work. Much appreciated!

Draco opened his eyes to darkness. His left leg felt as if something heavy was pinioning it to the rough mat. The rest of his body was cold. There was something pressed against his back that was giving him a morsel of comfort. He turned from his right side to his back and cringed as waves of pain erupted from his calf. However, a slight smile replaced the frown on his face when he saw that it was Harry’s back that was pressed against his. The Gryffindor had settled so close that Draco could have embraced him if he had wanted to.

A shiver that was decidedly not brought about by either the unrelenting cold or the intense pain of the snakebite ran up Draco’s spine, making his chest and head hurt. That was almost funny; he had never realized desire could hurt, except that he was too much in pain to feel like laughing.

Harry turned to lie on his back and in the process, his elbow found a place on Draco’s abdomen. _Dear Merlin…_ Harry was practically lying on top of him and he momentarily forgot to breathe. Draco bit his lower lip and slowly, so as not to wake the other boy, tried to free his left arm from being pinned down between their bodies.

But even the careful, small movements seemed to jerk Harry out of his restless slumber, and he woke up with a groan. When Harry saw that Draco’s arm was trapped between them, he mumbled an apology and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Draco sat up as well, fighting the urge to flinch due to the pain from his wound.

“How’re you feeling?” Harry asked, feeling Draco’s neck with his own palm.

The familiar gesture sent another shiver through Draco’s body. He dreaded to think that he was blushing furiously because of Harry’s evident concern. “I’m a bit cold.”

“You’re running a fever.” Harry stood up and dusted his jeans.

Draco noticed that two sets of robes gave him a modicum of warmth in the cold night. “Thanks for the robes,” he said, adjusting his position to ease the stinging in his leg.

“You’re welcome. You were in a delirium…talking in your sleep and everything.” Draco snapped to attention and held himself back from demanding elaboration from the other boy.

“What—what was I saying?” Draco, as casually as he could, asked.

“You kept saying you were cold. And…well…mostly you were just rambling,” Harry replied, not meeting Draco’s questioning stare. “Are you thirsty? I could find some water. You need fluids to help bring your temperature down.” He was quite eager to change the topic.

“Sure,” Draco exclaimed. He fingered the twill and twine covering his leg with a dismissive air. Harry was obviously discomfited about something. Maybe he said something weird last night; maybe he had declared his undying love for Harry Potter in the throes of delirium. _I can always plead that it was the venom talking. He’d have dismissed it as ramblings of a delirious fool anyway._

Barely a couple of heartbeats later, Harry was back, carrying a tarnished cup filled with water. “I washed it as best as I could.”

“Where did you get the water?”

“There was a covered well back there,” Harry said, gesturing towards the direction where he had disappeared. “The pulley was old-fashioned and the structure overrun with vines but the water tasted fine.”

Draco took great gulps of the water from the tin cup as first light was breaking through the horizon. And surprisingly, the water did make him feel a bit better. For someone accustomed to appreciating fine wines, it was a novel experience to find mundane _water_ refreshing.

“I hate to rush you because you need the rest but we need to get a move on. We need to have a doctor look at you. There might be some complications,” Harry urged, to which Draco just mutely nodded his agreement.

Soon enough, they were tearing through the grasslands again astride Pegasus with Harry still holding the reins in front, Draco clutching on to Harry’s shoulders for dear life, and their stash of mangoes tied with coarse rope to Pegasus’s hindquarters.

Draco couldn’t tell if the sun was just burning extra hot today or if he was still delirious because he was having a monster headache. Not to mention, his leg wound was smarting like it wanted to kill him. Twice, Draco almost fell off the horse and Harry had to hold him back from slipping off.

“Lean your forehead against my back and hang on to me,” Harry called from up front, his voice tinged with distress. The amount of the venom in Draco’s system must be more than he thought. Draco was still running a fever; Harry could feel the other boy’s warmth on his back. And the Slytherin was breathing laboriously, like every breath was a punishment. “I think we should switch places. I could hold you upright better if you’re in front of me,” Harry suggested.

“No, I’ll stay here. I don’t want to stop to switch places,” Draco mumbled, his forehead leaning on the nape of Harry’s neck. Had he been in any condition to think so, he would’ve thought it strange that such proximity with Harry failed to stir desire in his pain-laced body.

“Hang on to me, Draco,” Harry hollered and lashed the reins over Pegasus so they could go faster.

 _Draco… Draco… Draco… He called me Draco…_ He couldn’t breathe; his head was starting to throb. His eyes erupted into a kaleidoscope of colors behind his eyelids that it was becoming so hard to tell if he was still sitting up or spinning down a slope in a barrel. He was so dizzy that he encircled his arms around Harry’s waist in an embrace to keep him aware that he was sitting on a fast moving horse in the middle of goodness-knows-where behind someone. He was surprised when he felt Harry’s hand enclose around his clenched hands.

“You’re going to be fine, Draco. It’s going to be fine. We’re going to find a doctor to make you all right again,” Harry reassured him. Was Draco losing consciousness? “Stay with me, Draco! Come on, stay with me!” Panic rose like bile in Harry’s chest.

_Harry’s voice is fading… I’m fainting… or am I dying?_

But Draco was able to hang on to threads of his consciousness. He exceeded expectations and stayed on the horse, tightly hanging on to Harry like a drowning man on to a buoy. “Maybe if _I_ die, we’ll both wake up,” Draco spoke hoarsely after what felt like hours of tearing through the grasslands.

“You didn’t let go. What makes you think _I_ would?”

Draco ventured to open his eyes to see where they were. But nothing had changed much; they were in seemingly endless fields of grass. But it was darker somehow, and Draco saw that the skies were overcast. But apart from the fast gathering nimbus clouds, there was nothing but fields of grass and evergreens. “I’m so tired, Harry.”

“There’s bound to be a town somewhere here, and we’re going to find a doctor to look at you and make you better. It’s going to be fine; I promise,” Harry said. He was repeating the reassurance more for his sake than for Draco’s

And when Harry thought things couldn’t get any worse, it started raining.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Draco slowly opened his eyes to find some kind of light overhead. It was white light in what looked like a tube connected to a contraption that was holding it on both ends. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the garish light of the unfamiliar-looking device.

“Thank Merlin, you’re awake,” a voice, a bit garbled, said.

The blonde rubbed sleep from his eyes and turned his head to find Harry seated on a straight-backed chair by the window. Rain was splattering the glass, making it look like the scene outside was melting.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the Desmond Inn. You fainted after it had started raining. Then, I saw some kind of structure in the distance. It turned out to be an inn. They—the owners—helped me take you out of the rain. I asked them for their help, but I realized that we haven’t got any money. So Mrs. Desmond—she and her husband own the inn—offered to buy Pegasus and what was left of the mangoes in exchange for a room for the night and anything else we might require. I told them we were travelers, and that you had got bitten by a snake in the course of our travels. So…that’s the story and here we are. This is their only available room, by the way, so it looks like we have to make do with the small bed. If—that’s OK with you,” Harry explained.

Draco tried to sit up to be able to get a better look at the room. It was small, but neat. There was only one small table where a bundle of what looked like clothing was piled, one straight-backed chair by the window, which Harry was occupying, one rickety closet with only a single door pushed against the corner, a framed painting of cubes in different sizes and colors on the wall directly facing the bed, two bedside tables with lampshades, and wallpaper of sunflowers that was faded in some places and peeling in others. The door that must lead to the rest of the inn was closed while the other door, perpendicular to the single bed, was ajar.

“What’s in there?” Draco nodded towards to the door that was ajar.

“Can you believe—a bathroom? With a small but functioning shower, toilet, and sink. Oh, and running water, some soap and shampoo,” Harry exclaimed with a huge grin on his face.

Draco was about to throw the covers aside to sit on the side of the bed, when he froze. “Is there something else you haven’t told me about yet? Like—where my clothes are—that little detail?”

Harry smiled, tight-lipped. “Oh that—umm, I—ah—I sort of removed them.”

“ _All_ of them?”

“I had to. I asked Mrs. Desmond to launder all of our clothes with detergent. I asked for a change of clothes though, and I was going to dress you up again but then the doctor came in to have a look at you. And he stayed for a while. I was going to dress you up when he left, but then I hesitated because I didn’t know if you’d like the clothes they brought up for you. So—so I said, I can just let you decide if you’re going to wear the new set of clothes, I mean—it’s not like I left you completely naked… you were under the sheets.” Harry was babbling. Draco found it very cute and fought the urge to go ‘Aww!’ He deliberately directed his mind away from such thoughts.

“What’s a doctor?” Draco self-consciously tucked the sheets around his naked body again and scrounged around for a change of topic.

“It’s a Muggle Healer. It appears that this ‘world’ is Muggle.” Harry gestured to the source of light overhead. “That’s a fluorescent light,” he said.

“So did you ask the owners, you know, where the hell we are?”

“N—o. I was a bit preoccupied with getting you some medical help and that sort of slipped my mind. I was going to go leave you with the doctor to ask around downstairs, but I wanted to make sure first that you were going to be OK.” Harry turned to look out through the rain splattered window again. “I could go downstairs now to ask,” Harry volunteered, standing up from his seat.

“No! It’s—it’s fine. It’s late. The people have probably turned in already and you must be tired, yourself, from all that riding and worrying. There’s an abundance of people to ask anyway. Didn’t you say the inn was packed? I’m pretty sure there will be plenty of people to ask tomorrow,” Draco motioned. Harry nodded his agreement.

“So—why don’t you figure out how the two of us are going to sleep on this bed made for one while I appreciate the bathroom? After all, it’s been awhile since we’ve used one,” Draco suggested. He sat up from bed, arranged the covers around his body, retrieved his clothes from the table beside Harry and hobbled towards the bathroom.

When Draco came out of the bathroom, carrying the sheets which he used to cover his body up, Harry was already lying down on one side of the bed in a fetal position, taking up as little space as he could and leaving a considerable space for his companion. His eyes were closed and his arm was tucked against the side of his head. The white light on the ceiling was already closed.

Draco decided to wear the denim trousers torn at the knees and the mauve old-fashioned and long sleeved polo shirt, the sleeves of which Draco folded up to his elbows. “Aren’t you going to use the bathroom?”

“I already showered while you were sleeping.” Harry was apparently still awake.

“What was the healer’s diagnosis anyway? Am I going to die?”

“To my utter disappointment, no—you’re not,” Harry kidded, his voice laced with laughter. “The doctor said I was able to get most of the venom out of your system. He just gave you some painkillers and some tonic for the fever, and dressed your wound. He said you’re going to be fine.”

“I guess we’re even now,” Draco declared.

“Who the fuck’s even keeping count?” Harry asked. “I’m just so relieved that at this point that both of us are still alive.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “I was half-expecting we’d end up killing each other after a couple of hours of being stuck here. It looks like I was wrong.”

There was silence. Again. As most of this wretched trip was riddled with periods of silence anyway, what was another one?

“Thanks,” Draco muttered before settling on his back on the narrow bed. He tucked an arm behind his head and closed his eyes, half-expecting that the thanks would go unanswered.

“Anytime,” Harry murmured back and then turned from his right side to his left.

After a particularly long silence that made Draco think that Harry had already fallen asleep, the Slytherin cleared his throat and shifted his position on the bed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I thought _you_ were already asleep,” Draco quipped, smile in his voice.

“I got some shut eye while waiting for you to regain consciousness,” Harry confessed.

“Well—I’ve slept enough,” Draco declared, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you think they really can tell us how to get out of here? I mean, are those people even real and not just figments of our imagination?”

“We’ll get our answers tomorrow,” Harry shifted to lie on his back again, his arm pressed against Draco’s side.

A flash of lightning illuminated their dim room and a rumble of thunder echoed, filling yet another period of silence between the two young men. “Boy, it’s really coming down out there,” Draco observed. “Has it been raining long?”

“Yeah, must be hours already and it’s not letting up. At the rate it’s coming down, we’d all be under a lake in a few more hours.” Harry propped himself up from the bed on his left elbow. “Without Pegasus, we’d be soaked within minutes in that rain if we try to leave now. And your temperature has just normalized.”

 _Damn… I hate all this dead air…_ “I’m a bit bored, aren’t you?” Draco hugged his arms closer to his body. “Isn’t there a pack of cards or a board game here?”

“Let’s play a game. We always play this in the dorm just for kicks. We ask each other questions but our answers must also be questions. For example: I ask you, ‘what are you doing?’ You must answer, ‘what does it look like I’m doing or why are you interested to know what I’m doing?’ Strictly no statements, only questions. How about it? Up for it?” Harry sat up and leaned on the headboard of their bed.

“Sounds interesting. Sure, let’s play!”

Harry motioned for Draco to go first.

“Are you scared that we might never get out of here?” Draco asked.

“Do I look like I’m scared?” Harry arched an eyebrow, as if challenging the other boy.

“Why are you confident that we can get ourselves out?”

“Haven’t we gotten far enough to be somewhat confident of our chances to get out?”

“Aren’t you the least bit apprehensive that since you’re with me, our so-called chances are, well, not that good?” Draco, himself, sat up and settled on the other end of the bed, facing his companion.

“Why do you think that I would think that?”

“Don’t you—,” Draco hesitated. “—hate me? Aren’t you afraid that I’d fuck this up for both of us?”

“Why do you think that I hate you?”

“Don’t you?”

Draco held his breath. Harry looked squarely into Draco’s eyes in the dim light of the flashes of lightning from outside.

“Do you want me to?”

 _No—of course I don’t._ “Is it supposed to be a matter of want?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe everything was just a misunderstanding?”

“What do you mean misunderstanding?” Draco crossed his legs gingerly so as not to make his leg wound erupt in excruciating spasms of pain.

“Do _you_ hate me?” Harry’s green eyes were deep-set—almost black, but they were burning. At least, to Draco they looked like they were.

 _Shit! Now what do you ask in reply to something like that?_ Draco’s mind had ceased to function. “Do I look like I do?” _Oh, you are such a flirt, Draco Malfoy!_

“Do _I_ look like I hate you?”

“Isn’t this the very reason that you were apoplectic when you realized you were trapped in some sort of warped universe with me?” _Don’t you fucking deny it because you were!_

“Well, weren’t _you_ equally apoplectic when you saw it was me?”

 “What is your point, Potter?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might not _hate you_ hate you?”

 _That doesn’t necessarily mean you love me, does it?_ But of course Draco would evaporate his brains first before asking _that_ aloud. “Do I look like it had occurred to me before?” The Slytherin arched his eyebrow in an imposing manner before rolling his eyes.

“Have you never considered that maybe I only _look_ like I hate you because your attitude sucks?” Harry crossed his arms across his chest and propped his chin on his hand with a questioning but amused stare.

“Didn’t we say we’re not supposed to be making statements in this game?”

“Did that sound like a statement to you?” Harry stuck his tongue out to wet his lips.

 _Fuck, I hate this game…_ Draco thought. “Do you think my attitude sucks?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before?”

“Well—has it ever occurred to _you_ , Potter, that all of it was just some sort of defense mechanism?” Draco sneered.

“Why would you need a defense mechanism? What could you possibly be hiding that you’re afraid other people would find out?”

 _I don’t know about ‘other people’. Who gives a shit about what they think?_ “What makes you think I’d tell you about it?”

“Do I look like I even want to know?” Harry leaned forward to stare deeper into Draco’s eyes as if waiting for a juicy secret to be divulged.

“Like hell I’d tell you,” Draco sputtered in indignation.

“You lose! Ha!” Harry pumped his fist into the air with a brilliant smile, and Draco, realizing his mistake, slapped the side of his head. The blonde bent forward and raised his clenched fist to box Harry on the shoulder but thought better of it. Harry tugged on a loose lock of Draco’s hair, playfully and slid in a reclining position on the bed.

“I’ve gotten better at this game! I was always the first one to slip whenever I and the rest of the guys played.” Harry turned to look at Draco, who had already settled on the bed beside him. “Better luck next time. I’m sure you’re going to be really good at it.”

Draco scoffed with a slight smile. “Who taught you that game anyway?”

“Seamus. He said it was really popular with the kids from his hometown,” Harry tucked an arm under his head as a makeshift pillow. “But seriously though,” he began. “You sometimes irk me with your pompous attitude but _hate_ is too strong a word to describe that. Maybe, we only need to get to know each other to discover that we’re mistaken about certain impressions we have.”

“Yeah,” Draco acquiesced, not trusting himself to say more.

“You should get some rest now. You had one hell of an ordeal,” Harry said, closing his eyes.

Draco turned to sleep on his right side, his back toward Harry. He wet his lips and deliberated internally whether he should just throw caution to the wind and come out with it. “I don’t hate you, Harry,” he blurted out after some time. _Please, let him be asleep already!_ He squeezed his eyes shut. _You are such a moron!_

“I know, same here. But I’m still glad to hear it,” Harry replied.

Draco’s face broke into a smile. But he caught himself and toned it down a bit, but a feathery light feeling had already settled in his core.

This nightmare was turning out to be one hell of a dream, alright.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry came out of the bathroom, his hair still a bit damp from his shower. “It’s still raining?” Draco turned to look at him from his perch on the straight-backed chair by the rain-splattered window.

“Yes. It’s still coming down in buckets. It looks like instead of walking away from this inn, we’ll be swimming.” Draco gingerly swiped the curtains from the window to look outside.

He pushed the tray of empty plates away from the edge of the small table. When they had woken up, they had found that the innkeepers had left them some food outside the door. They had polished the plates clean and then decided to prepare for their departure with nice, long showers.

“It’s your turn,” Harry said, rubbing his hands through his hair to get a semblance of order on it and offering a threadbare towel to his companion. Draco grabbed it and took his turn to use the bathroom.

When Draco was finished, he walked out of the bathroom and hung the damp towel on the back of the bed’s headboard. He had thrown the ripped jeans and the long-sleeved polo back on. Just as he was finger-combing his damp, dark blonde locks, the rain considerably let up to a drizzle until it stopped altogether.

They waited a couple more minutes for daybreak before they decided that it was time to demand answers from the other occupants of this alternate universe sent from hell. They left their room and made their way downstairs to the reception desk.

“That’s weird. Why is it so quiet?” Draco asked as he looked around the empty foyer. He was still limping slightly but he felt significantly better than when he had woken up in the ruins.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as they took in the state of the reception area. The tiles on the floor were either cracked or missing entirely. The curtains on the windows were all moth-eaten. The main doors were hanging off their hinges while the reception desk itself was slanting as if it was missing a foundation. The rows of cubbyholes behind the desk which were filled with various articles and polished to a sheen the night before, when Harry had come in with an unconscious Draco with him, were all empty, run down and covered with a layer of dust and cobwebs as if they hadn’t seen a good feather duster in years. The tavern, which was last night filled with boisterous patrons, was like a storage room now filled instead with tables with missing legs and chairs with missing cushions. The threshold into the tavern itself was half-covered by dilapidated wood beams that had fallen from the low ceiling.

“Why does it look like nobody’s been here in years? Didn’t you say this was a hopping establishment last night?” Draco kicked a broken mug with his injured leg and met Harry’s eyes.

“It was. I don’t understand what could have happened. Do you think maybe it was attacked last night by robbers or something?” Harry moved behind the reception desk and bent low to look at what was left of the drawers. He found a weather-beaten compass, some scraps of blank paper and torn plastic wrappers, but nothing that could tell them where they were or where they could possibly go from there.

“We would have heard it. And we would have woken up,” Draco cautiously moved towards a canvas sack that was leaning against the side of the derelict doors, knelt down and opened the bag to look at its contents. “Harry,” he motioned for the other boy to come closer. Draco began digging into the bag and pulled out their freshly-laundered clothes, a paper bag that had blocks of cheese and bread in it, another paper bag with berries, grapes and bananas, some dried fish wrapped in newspaper, strips of beef jerky in another paper bag, some matches, several small vials of pills and Draco’s blue-colored tonic, two canteens of water, a bottle of tea-colored liquid, a blanket and what looked like a pocket knife.

“This must be in exchange for Pegasus, but I don’t understand—last night there were so many people here, but now, it looks like a tavern from a ghost town or something,” Harry said. He and Draco began repacking the stuff into the canvas backpack.

“Well, it looks like we can’t stay here. And waiting for anyone to ask directions from seems out of the question, too. There’s nothing left for us here.” Draco wiped beads of sweat on his forehead and prepared to heave the bag on his shoulders when Harry stopped him.

“I’ll take the bag. You’re injured, remember? You can carry it later when I get tired,” Harry assured, lugging the bag on his back. Before they left, however, Harry returned to the reception desk and took the compass. “You never know, it might come in handy later on,” he said.

And with that, they set off to the unknown again.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“Tired yet?” Draco glanced at Harry who was still lugging the canvas bag on his shoulders. They’d been walking under a blessedly mild sun, obscured by patches of cumulus clouds, for a while now. Draco was relieved that his leg wasn’t giving him any problems with walking as long as they kept to a slower pace. The pills in the bag were the same painkillers administered by the Healer in the very mysterious Desmond Inn.

“I’m fine. Have you taken your tonic already?”

“Yes mum. You know you’re worse than my mother? You nag much more persistently,” Draco ribbed. Harry snorted, and pushed the straps of the bag higher up his shoulder.

“It’s because you can be such a baby,” Harry retorted. “I wish we didn’t have to sell Pegasus. Now more than ever we need some sort of transportation.”

“It was a good bargain. We got respite from having to wash our bodies in waters contaminated with Merlin-knows-what, sleeping in the dirt, eating berries like rodents and wiping our privates with coarse leaves. What is walking a few miles in the middle of nowhere compared to that?” Draco was walking backwards beside Harry to talk with the latter.

“I guess. But I wish we could have said goodbye to him. He did contribute a lot to getting you there to be checked by a doctor. You could have died if it wasn’t for him,” Harry reminded Draco.

“For which I will forever be indebted to dear Pegasus, but he had already served his purpose and then some. I’m sure he will be well cared for, wherever he is.” Draco tried putting more of his weight on his injured leg so he didn’t have to limp so much. It still hurt like a bitch, but it was getting better.

Harry and Draco kept on walking in relative silence, interrupted only by coughing fits and sighs of mounting exhaustion. “It’s too quiet; don’t you think it’s too quiet?” Draco scratched his collar and turned to look at Harry again.

“Well I’m sorry for the lack of a raging party. What do you want me to do—sing for you?”

“Do you want to hear a joke?” Draco offered. Harry met Draco’s eyes to see if Draco was kidding. But he guffawed when he found out that no, Draco wasn’t kidding.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s not much of a joke if it’s serious, is it? Come on, I heard a really good one from a third year in the train,” Draco rubbed his hands together.

“OK, this better be good,” Harry said with a slight chuckle.

“An experienced healer was walking around showing this trainee healer the ropes around the ward when the trainee healer asks, ‘Healer Jenkins why do you have a wand stuck behind your ear?’ The older healer replied by exclaiming, ‘Shit! I wonder whose arse I left my quill in?’” Draco narrated animatedly.

Harry shook his head, fighting peals of laughter from erupting from his throat till only a snicker escaped. He hadn’t heard that one before. And between Fred and George, that was saying something. “I have to admit, that was kind of funny.”

“Are you kidding? I nearly farted controlling my laughter when I heard that one.”

“Why did you have to control your laughter?”

“Why should I let a _third year_ know he had a good one there? He would have had a swollen head,” Draco replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Harry shook his head and then raised an eyebrow at Draco. “You think that’s funny? Wait until you hear the jokes I’ve got,” Harry boasted, firmly confident in his claim from having known the twins since his first year in school.

He and Draco exchanged jokes for the duration of the journey. The grasslands grew steadily wilder again and then disappeared completely to be replaced by sharp rocks, gravel and dry earth. The vegetation slowly thinned as well, but the imposing mountains in the distance still didn’t look like they were getting nearer. The rough road that traversed the fields of grass narrowed, became rockier and later sandier until it, too, vanished.

“Are we entering a desert?” Draco’s laughter suddenly died in his throat when he realized that the vegetation had disappeared to be replaced by gravel and fine yellowish sand.

“Looks like it,” Harry answered morosely, observing that now there were only tufts of tall, dying grass dotting the expanse of the field.

The weather became warmer, too, so that Draco and Harry soon found themselves beginning to sweat profusely. Their feet would sometimes sink in the fine sand so that it became harder to walk as well. The two young men had no more excess energy to maintain small talk. All of their attention was demanded by the harsh landscape and negotiating it so they found it prudent to keep their mouths shut.

Once or twice, Draco would slip in the sand as his injured leg wobbled but Harry would be there to grab hold of him. Draco wanted to retain what was left of his dignity so he refused Harry’s offer to be a human crutch. The change in the weather, as well as the terrain, was making his wound throb, but Draco didn’t say anything. He didn’t want Harry to think he was a whiny wimp…not when they were just starting to get along.

“You want to take a break?” Harry panted to his companion who was lagging behind, hobbling.

“I’m fine. We’re roasting out here so I’d rather not,” Draco said, wiping his forehead with his forearm. The loose locks of his blonde hair had started to stick to his forehead. His cheeks were also beginning to tingle because of the harsh dry wind blowing over them.

Harry passed a canteen of water to the Slytherin and the latter took a grateful swig. “Just let me know if you need a breather, OK?” Harry accepted the canteen back from Draco to slip it into their pack again.

Just when Draco was about to collapse, Harry motioned for him to look in the distance. “Is that an oasis or am I just hallucinating?” Draco shielded his eyes from the unrelenting midday desert sun. That was all it took to renew their vigor and walk faster to their sanctuary.

A huge acacia tree, standing like a proud monarch on top of a stout hill, loomed ahead. It had thick grass in the perimeter of its shade. The tree’s trunk was craggy and looked like it had seen one too many sand storms and anxious travelers, seeking refuge under its canopy of leaves. Twisted roots protruded from the ground that was a mixture of dark brown loam, bits of gravel and fine yellowish sand. A lone swing with a weathered plank as its seat was crudely dangling from one of the tree’s thicker branches.

The sun that had burned their skins travelled in the blue, cloudless sky like a tennis ball being lobbed from one enthusiastic player to another, until it stopped to hang at the edge of the horizon, resting in the chasms between the mountains and exploding in yellows and oranges and bloody reds. It was sunset.

“It looks like its dinnertime,” Draco mouthed, and Harry answered with an amused snort. Harry took the pack off his shoulders with a grimace and collapsed on the grassy ground. He leaned his back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes with a dog-tired sigh. Draco mimicked his companion’s movements, taking a seat on the patch of grass beside Harry.

“Is your leg giving you any problems?” Harry crossed his legs and placed his clasped hands on his abdomen.

“Nothing I cannot manage,” Draco replied, self-importantly. It was another thing to be proud of. It was another feat he had never done before and yet he was able to accomplish this time. _Because I’m with you…_

“Arrogant much? I bet it’s hurting like hell,” Harry grinned and then placed a finger on Draco’s cheek. It wasn’t affectionate, but it sent ripples of excitement though Draco’s spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Your cheeks are all red with sunburn,” Harry observed.

 _Thank Merlin for sunburn!_ Draco couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to explain his burning cheeks if he wasn’t already red with sunburn. “Don’t we have sunblock in the pack, by any chance?”

“Nope, sorry. You’re just going to have to cover your face better,” Harry said, but he still hadn’t removed his forefinger from Draco’s cheek. Gray eyes buried deep into green ones. _What do you think you’re doing, Harry? Why are you touching Draco Malfoy’s cheek?_ Harry asked himself inwardly, panicking a bit and yet seeming to crave the touch.

Draco momentarily forgot to breathe. Harry’s finger was still on his cheek. “Are you hungry?” Harry asked, taking his finger back. He tugged the pack closer to him and began digging for their food supply. He was eager to change the topic to take both their minds off what had just happened.

“A bit—what’s on the menu?” Draco hugged his arms closer to his body to stop the uncontrollable urge to shiver.

“Umm… bread and beef jerky?” Harry began passing paper bags to his companion, and they ate in silence, both their backs pressed against the tree trunk. After dinner, Harry pulled out the bottle containing some tea-colored liquid, unstoppered it and took a whiff. “I think it’s some kind of liquor,” Harry said, passing on the bottle to Draco.

Draco brought the mouth of the bottle under his nose, narrowed his eyes, took a small swill of the liquid and sputtering, said, “It’s brandy. I can’t believe the innkeeper threw in a bottle of brandy in the supplies. What did they take us for—drunken travelers?”

The bottle was offered back to the black-haired young man and he accepted it, mild amusement etched on his face. He took the mouth of the bottle to his lips and took a big swallow of the liquid, himself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m drinking. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Draco rolled his eyes, yanked the bottle from Harry’s grip and took another, bigger swig as well. “Well—we did pay for it. It’d be a shame if we just let it go to waste,” he countered.

They took turns taking gulps of the brandy. They would occasionally joke about their predicament although it was fast becoming obvious that they were getting acclimated to their weird surroundings, the unusual rapport they’d developed and the slimming chances of ever getting out with each passing day.

“You know, if Professor Dumbledore was around, he’d have done something already and we’d have already been out of here in a heartbeat,” Harry blurted out unthinkingly, no doubt helped on by the liquor in his blood, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat on the ground.

Draco swallowed the brandy in his mouth and passed the bottle back to Harry. It was a little discomfiting to have to hear Harry talk about the old man especially after what he, Draco, had done and didn’t do that fateful night in the Astronomy Tower before their sixth year ended. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat, anxiously. “I’m sorry about the Headmaster, I—“

“You didn’t wave the wand. I was there; I saw everything. Professor Dumbledore knew it, too, that you wouldn’t do it. You couldn’t. You don’t have to be sorry for something you didn’t do,” Harry murmured before throwing back his head for another drink.

“But if it wasn’t for me, the Death Eaters never would have been able to enter Hogwarts. I was responsible,” he grudgingly admitted. He had never, in all the time he would keep replaying that scene over and over in his head, in all the time that Harry’s face was etched behind his eyelids, thought he would—or that he could—apologize to Harry Potter for that nightmare of a night. Merlin knew he had wanted to. So badly. Because he knew how much Dumbledore had meant to Harry, but until that time, he had never thought he could say it out loud. “And I’ve been meaning to make amends to you, for the longest time. It’s just—I never could bring myself to approach you and say it. I’ve always thought the countless versions of the apology would just die with me, without communicating them to the person who needed to hear them. But it looks like it’s out.” Draco hung his head, waiting—dreading Harry’s answer.

“It’s all in the past now. Both of us are better people now than we were before. I’m glad you told me, though. I’ve only just realized now how much I had wanted to hear it from you,” Harry said, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He, himself, had only just realized how much he’d been dying to come clean to Harry. “And anyways, I don’t think you had much choice in the matter, knowing Voldemort. Saying ‘no’ to him would have guaranteed your and your family’s demise via Tortureville”, Harry added thoughtfully, realizing it was the truth. Much more powerful, grown up witches and wizards had bowed to the will of that madman, after all; Draco had only been a teenage boy wanting to escape torture and death and the ruination of his family, swayed by the silver tongue of Voldemort.

“You succeeded, Harry. The Dark Lord is gone. What you need now—what _all of us_ need now—is time… time to heal ourselves,” Draco said, clutching the neck of the brandy bottle, not taking his turn to drink yet. Living with the Dark Lord breathing down his neck had wounded him very deeply, and he doubted anyone could ever understand or empathize with him. People would just see him as the boy who let Death Eaters into the school, not as the boy who had been forced to torture others, forced to witness tortures and deaths, forced to witness his parents crumbling apart from inside at becoming prisoners in their own home. No, no one would ever understand that, and even if anyone ever did realize it, they would just think he had brought it upon himself. Which was probably why Harry treated him like dirt till just before the snakebite, which brought out the hero in him and made other feelings take a backseat for the time being. Which was why Harry was still an impossible dream, no matter how chummy he appeared to be. Draco sighed dejectedly.

“If it’s really over, then why do I still feel like I’m sitting on a chair that’s going to blow from under me without any warning? Why do I still have those dreams? See, if I weren’t having such dreams, I never would have bought the Dreamcatcher and I might never have been here, wandering around aimlessly,” Harry declared, closing his eyes, defeated, unaware of the turmoil in his companion’s mind.

“We all have fears like we all have desires, you know,” Draco murmured. He didn’t know what else to say. A part of him regretted ever buying the Banisher to get rid of his disturbing Harry dreams but a greater part of him was thankful. He never would have been able to get to know Harry this way if they hadn’t been trapped in this nightmare together. If nothing else, he would cherish this ‘almost friendship’ with Harry.

“Draco—you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but—what’s a Banisher? You made mention of it when we were brainstorming before, in connection to controlling dreams. You never really answered me when I asked you what it is exactly.”

Draco gulped. He really didn’t want to answer the question, but he didn’t want to appear like a killjoy. And Harry _did_ ask nicely. _And admit it, Draco, there’s absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for Harry when he melts you with those smoldering green eyes of his…_ “It’s, umm, it’s a magical device to get rid of recurring dreams,” he said. It was a safe answer.

“Recurring dreams? What do you dream about?” Harry’s curiosity was aroused.

Alarm bells started clanging in Draco’s ears. His heartbeat definitely sped up. “Something impossible,” was what he thought was a safe enough reply. “And since it was impossible, there’s no use dreaming about it over and over. So I bought the Banisher to get rid of it once and for all.”

“Do you think maybe it’s responsible for your being here?” Harry could tell Draco was unwilling to talk to him about it, and decided to let the topic rest.

“Maybe, but as far as I know, before I got here, the Banisher was working properly. I don’t know what could have gone wrong,” Draco said and then he hiccupped. “Are you getting drunk yet?” He really didn’t want to be stuck conversing about the Banisher.

“If I can tell, then I’m not. We still have about two-thirds of the bottle left.” Harry offered the bottle back to Draco.

Draco took a long gulp of the liquor, staring at the mockingly frozen sun hanging off the edge of the firmament. “That is by far the longest sunset I’ve ever seen,” he nodded towards the dying ball of fire in the distance, stood up and settled on the swing hanging from one of the branches of the acacia, the bottle of brandy within his grip.

Harry, likewise, stood up to stay behind Draco. He clung to the rope connecting the plank to the branch and swung his companion. Draco took a gulp of the brandy as wind blew over them. Acacia leaves showered, and both Harry and Draco looked up to bask in the leaves kissing their sunburned cheeks. “It’s also the most beautiful, I bet,” Harry said, his eyes glittering in the explosions of dying light from the sun. “You do realize that you’re pushing me on the swing later when I get my turn, right?”

Draco could feel the heat of Harry’s body behind him, and he smiled inwardly. The sunset _was_ the most beautiful he had ever seen, and it was all because of the person standing behind him at that moment. “You mean _if_ you get your turn,” Draco smirked at him.

“Wanker,” Harry muttered, and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle.


	14. Chapter 14

“It took forever for the bloody sun to set, and now, it’s taking a lifetime for daybreak. I am getting sick of this universe, and I am seriously cold,” Draco said, hugging the blanket closer to his body. He and Harry were leaning against the trunk of the tree, sharing a blanket, after they had decided not to finish the entire bottle of brandy.

It was a full moon night. It was clear and cloudless, completely different from the deluge of the previous night while they were at the inn. Piercing cold wind would occasionally blow over the hill, chilling the two boys to the bone so that they decided to snuggle in the threadbare blanket once night had fallen to get a bit warm. Harry attempted to start a fire but the wind was too fierce to get the kindling to ignite.

“Why don’t we just finish the brandy to get us warm?”

 _What—so I can get pissed drunk and start throwing myself at you, proclaiming my never-ending devotion? Not likely!_ “I am not about to drink myself to oblivion. I’ve been told that I can get really loose when I’m drunk.”

“Loose?” Harry tucked his arms behind his head and turned to look at his companion.

“Really wild. I would really appreciate it if you don’t ask me to elaborate,” Draco replied. “You know what else sucks? My wound is starting to hurt like a bitch in this cold.” He leaned forward to pat his wounded leg, securing the dressing over it. His face was scrunched in annoyance.

“Which reminds me—we need to change the bandage, otherwise you might get some sort of infection.” Harry threw the blanket off his body, tugged on the strap of their pack to drag it closer to him and started digging into it for a change in bandage that he knew must be in the pack with the rest of Draco’s medication. “Here we go.” Harry took out a couple of kerchief-sized cloths and small vial of antiseptic.

Draco just watched silently as Harry poured a small amount of antiseptic on the cloth and scrunched the cloth to spread the liquid. He knelt beside Draco, and wordlessly rolled Draco’s trouser leg higher up his calf until the bandaged wound appeared.

“You know, if you suddenly change your mind that you don’t want to be an Auror anymore, I think you’d make a great Healer,” Draco muttered, feeling decidedly a bit discomfited having Harry gently clean his wound. He hissed when the wound began to sting because of the antiseptic.

Harry met his uncertain gray eyes, noticed Draco’s pain and bent over Draco’s leg to blow over the wound. “A Healer who doesn’t leave his wand in his patients’ bottoms, you mean?” Harry, smirking, licked his lower lip.

Draco snorted. He was afraid that Harry could hear the furious beating of his heart as the latter was gently smoothing out a fresh dressing over what was left of the snakebite. “What are _you_ going to do after we leave Hogwarts?” The Gryffindor pressed his hand, soothingly, against the freshly covered wound and stared into Draco’s eyes, questioningly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it yet. For the longest time, my father had had this notion that once the Dark Lord took over, we would get departments or settlements to rule over. But, thanks to you, that’s never going to happen.” Draco lowered his eyes. There was no hint of remorse in his voice about his family’s future that was never going to be.

“I think you’d make a really good Potions professor or maybe a professional Quidditch player,” Harry exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile.

“Quidditch player? I don’t think so. I’m not very good, considering I’ve never beaten you,” Draco commented, scooting over as Harry nestled beneath the blanket, beside him again.

“You don’t have to beat me to be a good Quidditch player. You _are_ good,” Harry assured him. “At least, I think so.”

 _And for me, that’s all that matters,_ Draco thought.

“Draco—do you think, when we get out of here, we can be friends?”

The Slytherin set his jaw and looked at Harry. He didn’t know what to say; he never thought he’d hear Harry say that he wanted them to be friends. “Do _you_ think we can?”

“We’re actually very similar, aren’t we? It’s just that—we never realized it before. So I don’t see why we cannot?”

“I don’t know. I mean—here…it’s very easy to say that yes, we can be friends because it’s just you and me. We’re not playing any roles, or living up to anybody’s expectations. But once we’re back in school, there are—other people—we have our friends, our houses. Our differences will catch up with us,” Draco said then he bit his lower lip. “We’re not even sure if we’ll remember having this conversation once we wake up. It’s possible that we won’t remember a thing, the same way that we sometimes wake up not remembering our dreams.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and blew a lock of his black hair off his eyes. “We _can_ be friends,” he mouthed. Then, he pulled out the pocket knife from their pack, stood up and walked to the side of the gnarled tree trunk.

Draco stood up, gingerly, taking pains not to dislodge the fresh dressing of his wound and hobbled to where Harry was. He found the black-haired Gryffindor whittling out the side of the trunk, his tongue between his lips in concentration. “What are you doing?”

“I want this tree to be a witness to our newfound friendship,” Harry said. He kept on poking the pocket knife at the surface of the trunk, etching out words that Draco couldn’t make sense of yet. Finally, Harry was satisfied. He blew off the remnants of the wood, concealing the engraving and showed Draco the markings with a flourish. The latter, with a slight smile, read: **H. POTTER & D. MALFOY R FRNDZ.**

“After everything we’ve been through together, I don’t see why we can’t be,” Harry said with his characteristic stubbornness, folding the knife and stuffing it in his pocket.

Draco touched the engraving with his fingertips as the sky lightened with daybreak, making the words on the acacia trunk clear and unmistakable.

_Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are friends._

_Potter is such a sap_ , Draco thought with a fond smile. It also healed an old wound in his heart, when Harry had refused his offer of friendship. Maybe this wasn’t such a nightmare, after all.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“What makes you think that that compass even works?” Draco hobbled after Harry as they traversed the barren area from the huge acacia tree. Draco had insisted that he lug the back pack in spite of his injury to give Harry some respite. Harry, for his part, whipped the compass they had filched from the Desmond Inn out to try to figure out where they were. “Quite pointless, too, because we may know which direction we are heading but we have no idea where we’re going. We could be going around in circles for all we know!”

“And we don’t want that, do we? If we keep going in one direction, we might not know _where_ we’re going but at least we’re going somewhere,” Harry exclaimed, turning the compass this way and that to figure out the mechanism.

“I don’t even know what the fuck we’re arguing about,” Draco groaned, shifting the pack higher up his aristocratic shoulders unaccustomed to carrying a weight. “Do you even know how to read that thing?”

“Don’t wizards use anything else apart from their wands ever? What would have happened to you if I weren’t around, I wonder?” Harry walked backwards, facing Draco. He tilted his head to the side and wiggled his eyebrows at his companion, obviously enjoying their now familiar playful banter.

“Lying in a ditch somewhere with half my bones broken, without a single blasted clue as to where the hell I am, if I’m lucky. Dead with snake poisoning, if I’m not. Expecting a Bleeding Heart Award? Don’t hold your breath,” Draco retorted, fighting back a smile from pushing the corners of his lips.

“Really Draco, you ought to be groveling at my feet with unrelenting gratitude. Imagine that, I keep you amused; I find food for you and save your life in between. What would you do without me?”

“And how, pray tell Mr. Potter, am I to repay you for your steadfast aid in my times of dire need? Is not the honor of my company enough for you?” Draco asked, gesturing exaggeratedly. He bent to pick up a clump of tumbleweed and threw it playfully towards Harry, who was still walking backwards in front of Draco, an amused expression pasted on his features. In Draco’s opinion, there was no better expression on Harry’s striking face but the one he was currently offering to the blonde Slytherin. And Merlin knows how long he had to wait and wish for it.

“I’m sorry, your company is supposed to be a source of _honor_? No, I was thinking more along the lines of a song and dance number or something. What do you think? I’d be much obliged Mr. Malfoy and goodness knows we both need the entertainment. I am going to lose my marbles in this environment,” Harry said, sighing exaggeratedly for added effect.

 _Why do I even like this buggering fool anyway? Is he fucking serious?_ “Are you fucking serious, Potter?”

“Oh come on, Draco, I’m bored; you’re bored. Go sing a song. I promise I will sing along if I know it,” Harry urged, tugging on the hem of Draco’s robes’ sleeve.

And so it transpired that Draco and Harry were singing a Weird Sisters’ song entitled ‘Once She was My Fine Sassy Witch’ when they left the sandy terrain of the desert and entered a bare expanse of cracked brown earth with absolutely no twig of anything remotely similar to foliage around for what looked like miles.

“It’s my turn to take the bag,” Harry tugged on the canvas backpack strapped to Draco’s shoulders. Draco relinquished his burden only too happily because his injured leg was twitching again. Harry didn’t seem worried about the change in terrain, so he didn’t let his worry over the lack of any form of life and the merciless-looking landscape appear on his face. _If Harry is not worried, I don’t see why I should be…_

They kept on singing various songs, sometimes making the lyrics up, to amuse themselves. “I can’t believe that you can actually string two notes together. I never would have suspected you for a crooner,” Draco joked. Harry sniffed and then cleared his throat, self-importantly.

“Which goes to show how much we know about each other,” Harry said, absent-mindedly kicking a pebble on the dry earth. “For example, you’re actually not as insufferable as I thought you were.”

“Likewise, Harry,” Draco replied, and Harry actually grinned at him before averting his green eyes to look elsewhere.

Harry raised his arm, bent at the elbow and rotated his shoulder. His other arm flew to the crook connecting the nape of his neck with his shoulder and dug his fingers on the muscle to massage it. “Shoulder still giving you problems?” Draco noticed Harry’s ministrations on his previously injured shoulder and narrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s just down to an uncomfortable throb. It’s tolerable,” Harry replied with a tight-lipped smile at his companion and dropped his other arm from massaging the other to dismiss the concern that was just starting to creep in Draco’s voice. “I forgot to let the doctor look at it in the inn, but it’s not that terrible.”

“You want me to take the backpack again?” Draco asked. He wasn’t concerned. At least, he was fighting the concern from tingeing his voice. He and Harry were just starting to get into good terms, but that doesn’t mean that they were going to be mother hens of each other. Draco didn’t want to sound like a worried housewife.

“No, you’re recovering from an injury yourself. I’ll be fine.” Draco didn’t want to admire Harry more than he already did, but there was so much more about Harry to admire.

 _You’re not supposed to immerse yourself in this bullshit again, Draco, that’s why you bought the Banisher in the first place, but look what you’re doing to yourself._ The blonde Slytherin stole a glance at his Gryffindor companion and fought the impulse to blush. _You don’t do blushing so stop this right now… Stop it!_ But Draco couldn’t help the tugs in his heartstrings for the clueless boy walking beside him.

 _I have to get out of this dream. I have to… or else I will end up doing something really, really stupid._ It was bad enough thinking of Harry day in and day out in the real world, but to be with Harry, so close to him and yet so far, was pure, malicious torture. He wanted to just stay mad at Harry, to nurture his annoyance at everything the Gryffindor stood for, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hate Harry when every fiber of his being had always yearned for Harry’s gaze, Harry’s smile, Harry’s touch.

And here they were, in a world of their own imaginings, far from everything that had always kept them apart, but there was still an unbridgeable gap between them. Harry was just a reach away, but he might as well have been on an island that was oceans away from Draco for all that Draco couldn’t tell him—about how he felt, how special Harry was for him. There was a world of secrets keeping them apart. _But maybe that’s what we’re meant to be—apart. It’s not meant to be. If there’s anything I should have learned from the war and Voldemort, it was that destiny could just as well be against you as it could be in your favor. Harry and I will never be. And when you’ve swallowed that, Malfoy, maybe you can actually clear your head enough to find a way out of here._

“Draco? Hey—you OK?”

“What? You were saying something?”

“I’ve been talking to you but I don’t think you heard a word of it,” Harry said, curiosity coloring his green eyes a deeper shade. “Something on your mind? Care to share?”

“I was just thinking about my parents. Maybe they’ve already been informed about what had happened to us,” Draco said, inwardly banishing the thoughts of Harry swimming in his head.

“I doubt if anyone would be wise enough to connect our predicaments in the real world. It would take them a while to put two and two together to realize that we are in the same—dream world—or something of the sort,” Harry answered. “I wonder how long we’ve been here.”

“Maybe days, or weeks or decades… who the hell knows? Maybe when we do finally wake up, we’d have waist-length white beards and lines on our faces.” Draco hugged his robes closer to his body as a sudden chill ran up his spine. What if they had already been here for years and years? What if when they woke up, their whole lives had already passed them by and everyone else they knew had already lived long full lives and died? And he realized that he really couldn’t care less.

“And everyone else we grew up with had already married. They’d have kids running all over the place, and we would feel like: ‘where have our lives gone?’”

“Still not scared that we may never be able to get out of here?” Draco met Harry’s green eyes; his gray eyes discerned a hint of apprehension in Harry’s otherwise rock-steady convictions.

“No. We _will_ get out of here, Draco. I promise you that.” Harry distractedly kneaded his shoulder again; a bit uncomfortable with how it was burning extra persistently that time.

“Maybe we should stop, your shoulder is obviously hurting you,” Draco noticed.

“I’m fine, we can stop later. I’ve been through much worse than this,” Harry insisted, his voice hardening a bit.

“Well— _I’m_ stopping anyway because my injury is starting to twinge. At least I’m man enough to recognize that my body is not a goddamned rock and since I’m injured, my body ought to feel something. You should take a page from my book, Potter,” Draco muttered, slumped on the earth and turned away from Harry.

“So we’re back to surname basis, is that it? What’s your problem, Draco? I said I’m OK. I don’t need to stop; my shoulder’s fine!” Harry retorted, the usual venom making an appearance for the first time in days.

“Why don’t you just recognize that your shoulder fucking hurts? It’s not going to dampen anyone’s high opinion of the great Harry Potter if you _complain_ , even for just once in your life, or if you _doubt_. You ought to try it sometimes, Potter. I mean who are you trying to impress with your gung-ho, I-don’t-feel-any-pain-or-any-loss-of-hope-because-I’m-a-hardened-war-hero crap—me? SHIT!!!” Draco buried his face in the crook between his knees and hugged his legs closer to his body.

Alright—so he was a bit frustrated! Can he be blamed for that? He was trapped in a dream with someone he’s been obsessing about for the longest time; he had seen said object of his obsession nearly naked twice; he had felt said boy’s lips sucking his leg. But every time he looked at Harry, he wanted to say so many things—ask so many things—but he couldn’t. And the longer he stayed there, the more he wanted to let Harry know everything, the harder it was to forget what he had always felt for the other boy. The longer he stayed there with Harry, the deeper he fell, that the idea of waking up to the real world as old men with their whole lives wasted couldn’t bother him anymore.

But Harry—Harry _was_ bothered. He was disturbed. Of course, Harry Potter wouldn’t want to waste his whole life living in a dream with Draco Malfoy. Of course, he would hang on to his unwavering faith that they’d be able to get out of here. Because he didn’t know, did he? He didn’t know that all the while Draco was half-wishing that they’d never get out only to return to that world where they have to be rivals, enemies, worse than strangers.

And then there was this irritating habit of his, of assuming the mantle of the all-suffering martyr every time! It seemed as though he had never learned to be human enough to admit his weaknesses; as though he was convinced that he was born to protect others, not to give in to his own human nature, even once in a while.  And this fake vision of indestructibility and eternal hope that he was projecting was beginning to grate on Draco’s nerves, not just because it seemed to taunt his own frailty as a fellow human being, but also because it underlined the fact that Harry still didn’t think him close enough to be completely honest with him. Maybe he would’ve been more candid with Weasel or Granger, and the thought tormented Draco. On the other hand, the notion that Harry didn’t know how _not_ to be a martyr, even with his friends, worried Draco. He wanted Harry to be able to be free; free enough to admit when he was scared, and free enough not to feel morally responsible for the safety and well being of every person he came in contact with.

He felt a pressure on his knee and he looked up to find Harry touching him. He must look a right arsehole for erupting like that, but he took comfort in the fact that Harry couldn’t possibly understand where he was coming from. There were so many things unsaid and unknown between them.

“My shoulder hurts like hell. I am dead scared that we may never get out of here. Happy now?” Harry said it so softly that Draco felt even more awkward at having thrown a fit. But his insides surged with a happiness that almost made him dizzy. He felt so full suddenly with an unknown emotion that he wanted to hug the idiot in front of him tightly and proclaim his every worry, every feeling for him. _Down, Draco!_ _You can’t tell him the real reason for your outburst. The secret will just have to die with you._

“But we mustn’t lose hope. And we mustn’t fight—not now—when we’ve just realized how much better we are as friends,” Harry pleaded. “Look how far we’ve come along in this journey, Draco. Now is not the time to lose hope.” Harry’s hand was warm on Draco’s knee. And it fit there so perfectly, as if there was no better place for Harry’s hand to be but on Draco—against his skin and tightly clutching Draco’s heart.

Harry’s eyes were sparkling, and Draco was drowning in them. “I don’t know what made me say those things,” Draco confessed a half-truth; indeed, there were so many reasons he himself wasn’t sure what exactly had brought that outburst on. He looked up as Harry stood up from kneeling in front of him. The former offered a hand to pull the latter up. Draco accepted the proffered help, unsure if there were any more words.

“It doesn’t matter. No harm done. You can make it up to me by massaging my shoulder later,” Harry grinned, lopsidedly. And Draco couldn’t help but chortle in amusement.

He would just have to settle for the friendship and be content with loving Harry in the secret depths of his heart. Like always.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

They were both half-asleep on their feet, but there was no higher ground where they could build a camp out of reach of any wild animals. They did find a derelict-looking tent in the middle of the barren field, though, after a quick water break. Draco was a wee bit shocked to find a cramped space inside the worn tent. He was reminded yet again that they were supposed to be in a Muggle world—where there were doctors, fluorescent lights and cramped tents.

It smelled like burnt wood and weeds inside the tent, and the poles holding it upright seemed like it had seen one too many storms and travelers seeking sanctuary—rusted and bent in odd places. The flaps were shredded and couldn’t sufficiently cover the mouth of the tent much less give the occupants ample protection from the elements. But it was better than laying out their threadbare mat under the blanket of stars as invitation to wild animals for a smorgasbord.

The unbelievably cramped space was like an insult to Draco who had already started feeling like the world was conspiring against him by keeping Harry in insane proximity to him. They could have found a huge cave or outcropping or plateau where they wouldn’t have to be breathing down each other’s necks, but no! They found instead a teeny, tiny tent where they would have to practically lie on top of each other to get some shuteye.

Harry took the backpack off gingerly, half-grimacing because of his smarting shoulder. He busied himself with taking out some fruit, cheese and bread for dinner while Draco dusted off the mat and laid it out as neatly as he could, given the four square feet of space inside their temporary shelter. They ate in silence, avoiding the topic of their altercation earlier on, but Draco once caught Harry giving him a surreptitious glance.

When Harry was done tidying up after dinner, he left to squat outside the tent.

Night had already fallen in the course of their dinner. There was a gibbous moon out along with a plethora of stars in the otherwise oily darkness. It was chilly, and Draco hugged his robes closer to his body to keep what little warmth he had. He found Harry with his legs crossed in front of him and his arms at an angle against the ground to support his leaning back. Draco sat behind the other boy and said, “So how about if we take a look at that shoulder?”

Harry shrugged off his robes and his shirt quite hesitantly. “Like I haven’t seen that before,” Draco snorted, and in the light of the heavenly bodies he inspected Harry’s back.

The area of the shoulder blades was bruised and swollen as if a nerve or a major blood vessel had twisted, preventing the regular flow of blood and causing the ugly deep purple coloring. He had never noticed this while they were washing their clothes in the brook, or maybe he just hadn’t looked properly, obsessed as he had been with _not_ looking at him. “Damn—this looks bloody painful. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry turned his head to steal a sidelong glance at the other boy and shrugged. “It didn’t hurt so much before. Must be because of the backpack,” he said, dismissively.

“Well, at least it’s only this one shoulder. Can you raise your arm?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded.

Draco delicately traced the edges of the big purple bruise emblazoned on Harry’s skin and applied very slight pressure. “I don’t want to aggravate the swelling by kneading it too hard. Let me know if it hurts, OK?”

Harry thought Draco had such nimble fingers for a boy. The ministrations were a bit painful, but the relief greatly overweighed the pain. Harry craned his neck to the side and closed his eyes as if by impulse while Draco worked his fingers against Harry’s skin.

The evening wind was chilly but Draco’s breath was warm on Harry’s shoulder, and his fingers were tender and yet forceful, strumming Harry’s ills away. On his shoulder, his shoulder blades, his biceps, his back, every groove on his spine, the nape of his neck, the graceful fingers were those of a pianist against ebony and ivory, creating sensational music, burning Harry’s skin, making him forget who he was, where he was, and what he was feeling.

He tried his hardest not to moan. Whatever would Draco think, that Harry was getting off on being massaged by his former-rival-turned-unexpected-friend? The Slytherin would surely be running for the hills.

 _What in Merlin’s name is happening to me?_ Draco’s fingers weren’t supposed to feel so…magical. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way towards _Draco_ , of all people! He and Draco may have found some common ground enough to be friends, but not this! He wasn’t supposed to be reveling in the touch, yearning for more.

But he was. And greatly so.

The loss of contact brought Harry out of his reverie. “Better?” Draco’s voice was soft against the shell of Harry’s ear, eliciting sudden goose bumps along his sensitized skin.

“Loads,” Harry replied a bit shakily, shrugging off the smoldering feeling from every surface of his skin with reluctance and a small sense of guilt and horror. He slipped the shirt back on as Draco stood up and wordlessly re-entered the tent.

And when Harry was alone once more, the thought of the electricity that ran though his body with every touch of Draco’s fingers returned in full force. _Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?_ Harry asked himself. _I’m dreaming; this is just a dream… nothing else, nothing more…_

It was unthinkable, inconceivable. It was every shade of wrong to be thinking this way. Nothing could possibly come out of it. _Snap out if it! Why am I even thinking it? It’s crazy! It’s insane!_

A shooting star burned through the firmament and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Harry hugged his legs closer to his chest and propped his chin on the crook between his knees. _We have to get out of here. This dream is starting to play with our minds._

But right at that moment, for the first time since they set foot in this dream, Harry began to doubt. Did he want to get out because he wanted to return to what he had left behind or because he was beginning to fear what it was he had found, in himself and in the company he never thought, in his wildest dreams, he would value the way he knew he was beginning to?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for the twist!
> 
> Keep the Kudos and Comments coming you guys!!!

Harry and Draco decided to change their clothes back to the ensemble they were wearing before they were given a spare set in the Desmond Inn after a relatively good night’s rest in the ludicrously small tent. It was after they changed that they noticed first light fighting to illuminate the interior of their shelter. “I guess this is the signal that we should move,” Harry murmured to his equally silent companion. Draco took the backpack from the ground wordlessly and ducked out.

They’d been surprisingly quiet since the night before. Harry had wanted to ask Draco if the latter was all right, but he didn’t know how to begin the conversation. Something had decidedly changed between them—in both of them—but Harry didn’t want to think anymore about what he had been thinking about last night, so he welcomed the silence. Maybe it was what they needed to be able to think about their own personal circumstances. But there was something about Draco’s aloofness that was making Harry worry; it was as if the blonde was retreating into himself and deliberately avoiding having to talk to him.

 _Maybe he felt my reaction last night while he was checking the state of my shoulder. Goodness knows it was more than enough to make anybody want to head for the hills screaming bloody murder!_ They’d obviously been here long enough that they were starting to crave human contact. That was it—what was responsible for last night’s theatrics.

The silence was deafening and it was making the environment and the journey a hundred times more difficult to bear. Harry wanted to stop, face the other boy and rattle him until he screamed. Anything was better than the silence. He thought they had already dispensed with it, but Harry was apparently mistaken. His shoulder was even feeling sorer because of the tension.

“Why aren’t you talking to me, Draco?” Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“I haven’t got anything to say, Harry.”

 _Great. Just bloody brilliant…_ Harry retorted inwardly.

Meanwhile, Draco was berating himself for his reply. Harry was clearly bothered by his silent treatment. _Well, why doesn’t he talk to me then, if he’s so disturbed about my silence?_ Draco pushed the straps of the pack higher up his shoulders. _He did, idiot! He asked you why you weren’t talking to him and you replied something half-intelligible! Why did I ever consider myself to be smart?_

Draco was actually scared. Scared to have to talk to Harry and let slip something he would regret for the rest of his sorry existence. Last night, as he was touching Harry and working his trembling fingers against the Gryffindor’s battered shoulder and back, he thought he was going to die because of the thunderous thumping of his heart. He could hear his heart practically doing jumping jacks in his chest cavity with every hesitant stroke of fingers on skin and every breath out of his lungs. Harry couldn’t possibly have any idea how Draco came alive last night—so alive and conscious of the overwhelming pull of his desires that he almost lost his self-control. He came so close to throwing Harry down against the earth and having his wicked way with the Gryffindor with every thought, caution and everything else thrown to the wind.

 _That must not, must never, ever happen again. I must not lose myself the way I almost did last night._ And for that reason, he had decided to take a vow of silence; opening his mouth could spell his cataclysmic doom.

“So you’re just going to stay there without saying a word?” Harry was pissed. Who wouldn’t be?

Draco breathed an enormous sigh, opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and closed his mouth without saying anything, not even a derisive snort. Harry just took to walking faster. Harry asked for the backpack after a couple of hours of walking, and Draco only nodded to him and handed the pack over, still not trusting himself to speak. 

By the time they arrived at the banks of an angry river about three hundred meters wide from one side to the other, Harry had completely lost his desire to spark small talk. The rapids were huge and merciless. The froth in the surface of the waters reminded Harry of froth on a werewolf’s mouth; boy, did that bring back some bad memories!

“How are we going to get across? There are no boulders for a makeshift bridge!” Draco called out to the other boy, making an effort to make himself heard over the din of the rampaging waters.

“So now you’re talking to me again?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you!” Draco yelled. “Would you mind telling me what the plan is to get across?”

“We’ll just have to take each other’s hand and walk across, slowly, establishing our footing. The rapids can’t be that bad if we spread out and not make ourselves small and tight—that would only make us more prone to get carried away by the water like a rock. And if that happens, we’ll surely drown,” Harry motioned how they should cross.

“Well—we lived through killer waterfalls, suicide slopes and crazed wildlife—what’s several hundred meters across raging rapids, right?” Draco sarcastically scoffed. Sure…what’s another near death experience but a juicy topic of conversation during drunken Slytherin revelry?

They linked hands by clutching each other’s lower arms: Draco’s right with Harry’s right. Draco was to go first and Harry next along with their canvas bag of meager supplies, and they would cross slowly, establishing sure footing. “Walk slowly so you don’t trip on the riverbed. It can’t be more than seven feet deep in the deepest part of the river, right at the center or thereabouts. It can’t be too much of a problem if we go slowly,” Harry reminded Draco.

“Snail’s pace…right.” Draco took a hesitant first step into the fast flowing water with Harry right beside him, clutching his forearm in a vice-like grip. The water started seeping into his shoes; it was bloody cold! “Fuck—it’s cold!”

“Don’t mind the temperature. Just keep walking,” Harry bellowed.

With single-minded concentration, they were able to get to the center of the river with rapids pounding into them from all sides. They were up to their chest in cold, frothing water. Draco’s lips were trembling because of the nearly frozen water covering their limbs like a suffocating blanket. The intense cold was making his leg injury act up, at the same time that it was making the rest of his body immersed in water, numb. Harry, who was still tightly gripping his arm and facing upstream, was breathing hard as they took one sideways step after another.

The riverbed was riddled with chasms and sharp rocks that the soles of Draco’s feet were beginning to sting, but he kept his focus, feeling where he was going with his feet and keeping his eyes in the downstream direction. They kept their linked hands as well as their free ones above the surface to get a semblance of balance as they forged through the angry water.

“Nearly there, nearly there,” Draco muttered to assure himself and his companion.

Harry brought his free hand to wipe his hair off his eyes, drenching his fringe and his glasses in the process. Though half-blinded, it didn’t stop Harry from noticing a huge log, spanning almost the entire width of the river, careering towards them from upstream, spurred on by the vicious current. Harry stole a glance at how near they were to the banks and terror gripped the pit of his stomach. They weren’t going to make it before the huge tree trunk made impact. They couldn’t take a dive for the river was too shallow in this part, and there was no way they could make it back to the other side either.

With swiftness and agility that shocked even Harry himself, he threw himself against Draco in a tackle to spur him onto the other side of the river. His arms wrapped around the blonde boy’s body and with a burst of adrenaline practically hurled him to the safety of the banks. “What the—“ Draco’s words died in his throat when he saw the fast approaching log. He turned his head away and closed his eyes, anticipating the pain of the impact, but it didn’t come. The gnarled branches still attached to the log missed him, but Harry wasn’t so lucky.

“Harry!” Draco hollered, his blood freezing in horror when he found himself alone near the banks of the river. Harry was nowhere to be found. He dove into the water after the log, away from the security of the shore. “Harry!” Draco called again, slicing through the frothing waters with powerful strokes of his arms. His luxurious lifestyle hadn’t prepared him to traipse around rough countryside or to climb mountains, but he was an expert swimmer. But the current was crazy, and he found himself being bobbed around like tumbleweed in the wind. The tide pulled him underwater, and he felt his lungs burn with every inhale of freezing water. Kicking his legs, Draco fought to get back to the surface for a breath. “Harry, where are you?!” Taking a great inhale of oxygen, Draco dove underwater again and propelled himself through the powerful current to catch up to the bobbing log. Panic was beginning to suffocate him just as effectively as the water. Where was Harry? What happened to him?

It was nearly impossible to see anything below the surface. And Draco was getting dizzy with being thrown around by the current and severe lack of oxygen. Before he succumbed to the unconsciousness, Draco surfaced again with a great gulp of air. “Harry!” Draco called again, fighting back the sob of panic threatening to escape from his lips, which he was sure was beginning to turn blue because of the cold.

A shock of something black caught Draco’s failing eyes. “Harry!” A fresh surge of purpose overcame him and with powerful strokes, he swam towards the limp black-clad body bobbing around like a cork in the water. Finally, after herculean efforts, Draco was able to grab a fistful of Harry’s robes, and he paddled through the rapids to reach the banks, tugging a very wet and a very unconscious Harry along. He crawled to the safety of the banks and, sputtering, pulled a very pasty blue Harry close to him. Then he turned the seemingly lifeless boy over on to his belly and thumped his back with gentle but firm strokes, getting the water out of his system. Once Harry’s slack mouth stopped oozing water out, he turned him over again and hugged him close.

“Harry… please open your eyes. Please,” Draco murmured, lightly caressing the unconscious boy’s cheek. Draco bent to listen to the boy’s heart, but the thrum was very soft, hardly audible. “Wake up, Harry!” Draco swept Harry’s messy black locks off his face and thumbed Harry’s closed eyelids, his dark eyelashes contrasting against fairly blue cheeks. But the Gryffindor remained unconscious.

The blonde gently laid the other boy on the ground and knelt beside him. _Come on, Draco. You’ve seen many Muggles do it during the war. Just do it…_ Draco placed a hand on Harry’s chin and pulled the other boy’s jaw open, and with the other hand, he pinched Harry’s nose shut. Draco’s lips clamped over Harry’s slack ones and blew air into it.

Once. Twice. Panic rose like bile in Draco’s gut when there was no response from the other boy. _Harry, don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare!_ “Come on, Harry, breathe,” Draco said, bending over Harry’s body again and resuscitating him.

Finally, Draco felt Harry exhale, and the latter twisted to his side, sputtering remaining water from his lungs. The Slytherin grinned and offered silent thanks to no one in particular that Harry was going to be fine. Harry was still gasping and coughing, but at least he was conscious.

“Why do you insist in scaring the shit out of me like this?” Draco asked when Harry’s coughing had subsided. But what he wasn’t expecting was that Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck in a tight embrace. Gray eyes widened like saucers, but he nevertheless raised his own arms to wrap them around the Gryffindor.

“Thank you. I guess now I owe you one again,” Harry murmured against the side of Draco’s face.

“We’re still even. You pushed me out of the log’s way. Don’t think I didn’t notice that,” Draco replied.

“Hmm, I guess I did,” Harry uttered, amusement coating his voice. “Am I forgiven then?”

“Forgiven? For what? I wasn’t mad at you.” Draco hated it when Harry was being cute. It always became harder to resist him.

“What was I supposed to think? You weren’t talking to me.”

“I’m sorry about that. I guess I just have a lot on my mind lately. It won’t happen again, OK?” Draco was just vaguely aware that he and Harry were still locked in a tight embrace. “Think you can let go of me now?”

Harry laughed and dropped his arms from the embrace. “Shit! I lost the backpack!” Harry cursed, looking around and realizing what was missing.

“Don’t worry about it. We survived without it before,” Draco stood up and offered a hand to Harry.

“Are my ears deceiving me or did you, Draco Malfoy, just say that you have no problems about roughing it?” Harry wrung the hem of his robes and his sleeves and wiped wet hair off his face.

Draco waved his hand with a dismissive air. “Are you sure you can walk already? No broken bones or anything?” Draco asked. He imitated Harry, wringing his own clothes as dry as he could.

Harry looked at him and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just a little battered. But right now, I’d really rather walk than swim; always was pants at it.”

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“I didn’t know that you knew how to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” Harry exclaimed. He and Draco were walking through a field of dried grass, as tall as they were. Sweeping a tangled clump of grass out of their way, Harry waited for his companion’s response.

“So that’s what it’s called? I’ve seen Muggles do it during the war. I didn’t think it would work because, during the war, it seldom did,” Draco explained, following the path that Harry had cleared through the underbrush. “I’m glad it did this time though.”

Draco caught up to Harry and turned to look at the latter. “I thought, when you disappeared, that you had done it—you had woken up and left me there,” he confessed. He remembered the fear that gripped his heart when Harry was nowhere to be found. “Either that—or the log had walloped you and you had drowned.” Draco couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if that were the case.

“I wouldn’t have gotten out without you.”

“Would that have been within your control?”

“Both of us are getting out of this together, Draco. I’m not going anywhere without you,” Harry squarely met Draco’s gray eyes, and then he went back to swiping dried foliage out of their way. But after a while, Harry met Draco’s eyes again and couldn’t help but give a lopsided grin. “You know, your eye color changes depending on your mood.”

“What?”

“I said your eyes change color sometimes. No one’s ever told you that before?” Harry grabbed hold of a handful of weeds and gave a vicious pull. He refused to meet Draco’s eyes, but he found himself straining his ears to catch any audible reaction from his travel companion. When there was none, he went on. “Your eyes turn silver like mercury when you’re amused. But when you’re being sarcastic, they turn more blue than gray. When you’re irritated, they turn a deep-set gray, and when you’re confused or scared, your irises take the color of the seas when there’s a storm. You become very easy to read because of your eyes actually. And I’ve only just noticed,” Harry finished.

Draco froze in midstride, unsure what kind of reaction his face was giving away. A part of him wanted to howl in happiness that Harry actually noticed those little details about him, but a part of him was dejected that by feeling happy, he was actually digging himself a deeper hole to bury himself in. He swore an oath to himself that he was going to stop this madness, but every smile, every touch and every thoughtful gesture reminded him of that which he had been fighting tooth and nail to forget.

“Like right now—you’re amused and at the same time trying not to be,” Harry chirped, wanting to catch Draco off guard. “It’s certainly very interesting to watch,” he added.

Clearing his throat, Draco kept on taking one step after the other. He didn’t know how to respond to Harry’s comment, fearing that he might give something of his hard-kept secret away to the very person he was keeping said secret from. “I didn’t know that,” Draco simply said.

The two boys continued their wordless trek through the dry undergrowth, grunting and groaning because of exertion. Their wet clothes had all dried in the late morning sun and the hot air blowing on their faces. Shielding their eyes helped very little in the glare of the sun that was proudly blazing right smack in the middle of the cloudless, robin’s egg blue skies.

Draco wanted so badly to whine—he was thirsty, hungry, sweating like a pig, and itching with some kind of rash because of swimming in undergrowth, but he didn’t say anything to his companion. Harry was probably tired himself, and if he could suppress complaints about their current predicament, so could Draco.

Harry brutally pulled a clump of weeds out of their path, and they found a gravel-strewn dirt road, slightly above the level of the underbrush and stretched endlessly from east to west. The road bisected their course, which, as they discovered, was heading towards the bald mountains in the distance. “What do you think? Should we take the road?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. There was something disturbingly familiar with the dry, dusty path before them. “Harry, haven’t we been here before?”

Harry looked from left to right, studying the terrain closely. There _was_ something vaguely familiar in the swirling mists of dust rising from the dirt road, in the clump of tangled underbrush flanking it and the foreboding and unmoving sun above them. “Bloody hell,” Harry murmured, and then he planted both hands on the incline before them, pushed himself up to stand on the haphazardly asphalted road, and turned to survey all sides of their present environment. “No fucking way!”

Draco mimicked Harry’s movements and found himself on the slightly elevated dirt road. There was no mistaking everything he was seeing.

They were right back to where they started.

“I don’t fucking believe it! How could—but—how—.” Words had failed Harry. It was impossible! And yet there they were, right where they met before. It was as if everything they went through was just different points in a circle and now they were back to the beginning. So it wasn’t as impossible as they thought.

“Holy Merlin…” Draco wanted to tear his hair and his teeth out but the dismay was just too overpowering, that he just ended up wanting to cry. “We are going around in circles.” _Good observation, Draco! Nice!_ Of course, they were going around in circles; why they hell would they be back right where they started if they weren’t, and if they were actually getting somewhere.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked, for the first time, looking the part of a lost, weary traveler without a clue.

“Well—there’s no turning back, that’s for sure,” Draco answered, fighting back the urge to bawl like a newborn.

“There’s nothing behind us, but there’s also nothing ahead of us. We’re stuck.” Harry slumped on the dusty road and buried his face in his palms. “We’re fucking stuck!”

After a long, interminable silence, with each contemplating their now-almost-nil chances of getting out of this dream world, Draco was finally able to persuade Harry to get back up on his feet so they could find some shelter out of the relentlessly blazing sun. Both were silent. Neither wanted to be the one to begin pointless, fruitless small talk. And neither of them could blame the other for retreating into their thoughts, no matter how tumultuous; there was no hope to be had in their situation.

“Where is that godforsaken cave I saw earlier?” Harry finally screamed in frustration. Consternation filled the void in his words. But he forged ahead, anger and disappointment spurring him on and taking the place that hope and faith had vacated.

Harry was well ahead of Draco now, and the latter fought to catch up. But he felt his legs give way from under him because of fatigue and severe dehydration. “Harry!” Draco called after the other boy. The asphalt was scorching hot under his palms and against his backside. He couldn’t walk a step further.

“Draco!” Harry rushed back to help the Slytherin, who had nearly fainted in the middle of the road.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so tired; I had to stop,” Draco apologized. He vaguely remembered the last time they were here. They fought like cats and dogs then, so different from how they treated each other now. But like the first time they were here, the terrain was still as merciless.

Harry knelt beside him and nodded, softly. “It’s alright, Draco. Don’t apologize.” Harry hung his head and unbeknownst to Draco, closed his eyes in defeat. They were never going to get out of here. Either they were going to be trapped here for all eternity, going around and around in circles or they were going to die because of the very harsh environment.

With both their faces pink from sunburn, Harry helped Draco up from the ground and supported him against his side. They had only taken a few steps when Harry spotted the now-familiar outcropping, concealing the cave, a fair distance from the road. “The cave’s over there,” Harry told Draco. And together, they hobbled over to their temporary shelter that they never thought they’d be seeing again.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“There must have been something we missed,” Draco began, still disbelieving that they were back in the cave, brainstorming anew.

“Going back to check is certainly out of the question at this point,” Harry replied. He exhaled through the nose, fighting back the impulse to run amok because of sheer frustration. “Maybe it’s all of those times that we almost died. Maybe we ought to have let nature run its course than save each other.”

“You said there must be some other way to be able to get out of here apart from risking our lives. And there has to be… because otherwise, it’s like saying you regret having saved my life,” Draco stated, almost inaudibly.

Harry met Draco’s eyes and his green eyes softened. “Of course not, Draco. I didn’t mean it like that.” _And that’s not a lie. I would still save you every time you needed saving…_ Harry gulped. It was those instances that made them realize there was more to them than being enemies. If there was anything this dream was good for, it was that it brought out the best in them—the best they could possibly be.

“I say it’s not the near-death experiences that would have gotten us out. It’s something else. Something we didn’t do that we were supposed to,” Draco reasoned, raking a hand through his anything-but-pristine blonde hair.

“But what? From day one I’ve always had this feeling that this dream has a life of its own, that it’s like a game that follows its own course that is without logic or pattern. How do we cheat something like that?” Harry folded his arms across his chest and hung his head again, deep in thought.

“If there’s anyone who knows how to cheat in a game, it’s the one who made the game the way it is. If there’s anyone who can figure this dream out, it’s us because it’s ours,” Draco declared with conviction, uncharacteristic of a sly, cunning Slytherin.

Harry looked deep into Draco’s eyes. They were the color of ominous nimbus clouds, a color he was yet to see in the Slytherin’s eyes. Until now. One corner of Harry’s lips couldn’t help but twitch in a slight smile. “Well Draco—if we’re going to be outsmarting a universe that is our own creation, we need energy. And for that we need water.” Harry stood up and walked to the mouth of the cave, followed closely by Draco.

The blonde faced the same direction that the raven-haired boy was facing and saw coconut trees in the distance, towering above the dry underbrush. “Do you think you are up for climbing one of those again?” Harry asked.

“If only to prove to you that the last time wasn’t just dumb luck? Hell yeah,” Draco said, smirking and taking a first step out of the cave to continue their journey.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!

“I don’t understand. I ought to have remembered the way to the waterhole from here. I’ve scoured the entire area, but there’s nothing.” Harry had begun pacing to and fro on the small space by the clump of coconut trees. As a consequence, the dirt under his feet kept on rising in clouds around them, that once or twice Draco found himself rubbing his steadily watering eyes to dislodge bits of dust that had gotten into them. It was only after Draco sneezed that Harry looked surprised at the dirt he had kicked up and relented.

When they had arrived at the clump of coconut trees, Harry had told Draco to stay put while he tried to retrace his steps to the waterhole they had found the first time they had been there. He had been gone for quite some time and returned seething when he found no trace of the waterhole. After that, Harry resigned himself to the fact that it was impossible to find the waterhole by himself and suggested that they wait there. After all, the last time, Harry distinctly remembered having followed some animals to get to the waterhole. He figured that some kind of animal was bound to come their way again en route to the waterhole.

“I told you, I can climb the tree again and get a coconut,” Draco volunteered, and he could hardly believe it that he actually did look forward to doing it. He must really be losing his wits in this place. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted to a more comfortable position for his back, which was leaning against a coconut tree trunk.

“I have no doubts that you can get one again, Draco, but it’s not as if we can open it,” Harry reasoned.

“We’ve been here for ages,” Draco pointed out. He just couldn’t understand what they were standing around there for. “I don’t know about you but the waiting is driving me nuts.” Draco muttered, stood up and made a beeline for the shortest coconut tree, the same one he had climbed before. _Wow, when you’re bored, climb a coconut tree!_ Draco braced himself against the trunk and started climbing.

“What the fuck are you doing, Draco?”

 _Good question, what the fuck am I doing?_ “I have to do something!” _You could’ve started naming all of the rocks in sight, burst into song, bashed your brains against the tree trunk, or rolled yourself in the dirt until you throw up, but no—you would rather climb a coconut tree like an uncivilized buffoon!_ Draco alternated his arms and his legs to heave himself higher up the tree. It had actually gotten easier to climb compared to the last time. Maybe it was because he had already gotten the hang of it.

Harry started laughing animatedly, in spite of himself. “You’ve gotten quite good at climbing. I’m impressed!” Harry called after his companion.

“I’ve had some practice,” Draco called back, a slight smile grazing his face. “You ought to try it sometime. It certainly beats standing around, waiting for exit to fall from heaven!” The compliment from Harry seemed to fuel Draco’s limbs to pull him higher, adrenaline burning through his muscles.

“I’ve just noticed—you don’t deal with boredom conventionally, do you? But I have to say, climbing coconut trees is loads better than making fun of people when you’re bored. Congratulations, it looks like you’ve finally found a better way to deal with your boredom,” Harry tried to jest, watching Draco’s spirited progress up the tree, even while knowing his joke was jaded, lacking both wit and sting; he certainly wasn’t going to get them out with his gift of the gab.

The Gryffindor’s cheers and catcalls of encouragement eventually grew livelier as Draco neared the top, where a bushel of coconuts grew. Draco snatched a coconut from the bunch with a vigorous yank, and he raised it in the air like a prize to Harry’s raucous applause. He held the stem of the fruit between his teeth and, slowly but surely, made his way down.

“Good job!” Harry congratulated him with a clap against the shoulder when both of his feet found the ground again. “I knew you could do it,” the Gryffindor said, giving him a wink.

Harry was still enthusiastically lauding Draco’s feat and Draco was basking in the attention, when a rustle sounded from the far side of the cluster of coconut trees. With lightning quick reflexes, Harry strode to the bushes where the sound had come from. He saw what looked like the hide of an armadillo disappearing into the next thicket.”Draco—we have to go!”

Two sets of feet pounded against the dry earth. Harry, who was running ahead of Draco, hastily swiped the tall grass out of their way. He could only catch a fleeting glimpse of whatever animal they were following. Ragged breathing filled their ears as they fought through the tangled shrubbery. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they stepped into a clearing—the waterhole.

Eagerly, they knelt by the banks of the pond and scooped water in their cupped palms for a drink. The mirror-like surface of the waterhole broke into endless ripples as Harry and Draco took feverish gulps of water to quench their thirst, hardly paying attention that night had fallen over them.

Harry froze and looked up as the sky quickly darkened into evening, in the exact same manner as the last time they were there.

“Merlin,” Draco whispered to the evening wind. “What do you make of that? It’s like déjà vu,” he finished.

And the Gryffindor couldn’t have put it better himself.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“It’s like we went back in time. Everything is happening exactly like before,” Draco spoke again after a long period of silence, when each boy preferred to contemplate his bizarre situation.

“No—not quite like last time. I found the cave in no time before. We didn’t have to wait so long by the coconut trees, and we found the waterhole almost instantaneously before,” Harry muttered, tracing patterns on the surface of the water with his forefinger, his elbows planted on his knees, making a morose figure. By his side, Draco reclined on the ground cutting an indolent, if dirty, figure.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. Harry could almost see the cogs in the other boy’s head turn. “It’s because I took too long to decide to climb the coconut tree this time around—unlike before.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you see?” Draco sat up in his agitation, his gray eyes gleaming silver with a sudden understanding. “You couldn’t find the waterhole yourself when you tried to look for it…because the last time we were there, we needed to follow some animals to get to the waterhole. The animals only came _after_ I climbed the tree, got a coconut, came down and tried to open it. That was exactly what happened the last time. Before that we were in the cave, _but_ we wouldn’t even have found the cave if I hadn’t been nearly fainting with exhaustion. You noticed it, too. It took us longer to find the cave this time because I kept on going. It was only after I said I couldn’t go on anymore and you walked back to help me get on my feet again that you spotted the cave—precisely like what had happened the first time we were on the dirt road,” Draco explained, words flowing out of his mouth like a fount.

Wide green eyes met contemplative gray ones. “I think the logic of this universe is that we have to follow our footsteps—the ones we made the first time we travelled through this dream. We need to do _exactly_ what we did the first time or else we’d be stuck in one place. It’s like our actions in the exact same sequence set some kind of pattern that we are expected to observe otherwise we’re doomed to be trapped in one place,” Draco spelled out. But every word was like a death sentence, a nail that is driven into their coffins, sealing their fate.

“But if that is the case, Draco, then we’d be going around in circles. We won’t be trapped in one place, sure—but we’d be trapped in this universe for every step we take would always get us back to the dirt road. Over and over like a never-ending cycle,” Harry reasoned out, his voice dying out towards the end. _It’s official; we’re trapped…one way or another._

The two boys were stunned to complete silence. Not even the majestic evening sky could tear them away from the depth of their thoughts. All that they had to go through were all for nothing. They were back where they started, and they would always be taken back unless by some stroke of luck, they’d stumble upon the exit before their footsteps took them to the dirt road again. “Shit,” Draco mouthed once the complete realization hit him. It was the one word that captured their situation to perfection.

Harry hugged his body tighter, trying to stifle the cold that was raking through his body from the inside. “I’m sorry,” Harry said softly.

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault, Harry. None of us could’ve anticipated that this would be happening,” Draco replied.

“I’m sorry because it looks like you’re doomed to be trapped here forever with me.” Harry bit his lower lip and hung his head in dejection. He collapsed on his back to stare at the evening sky overhead. He didn’t want to say it, but maybe it was time to accept the seemingly inevitable. If they could get out of this dream, they’d have already done that. Instead, they were back to where they had bloody started.

“Why do you sound like you’re giving up already? Whatever happened to what we talked about in the cave?”

“We’re back to where we started, Draco. This dream has us trapped to retrace our steps _ad infinitum_. What else should I be feeling right now aside from hopelessness? Tell me,” Harry retorted.

“Strictly no statements; questions only,” Draco smiled at him, introducing the game they had played in the inn. “Can you honestly tell me that you don’t mind being trapped in this dream with little ol’ insufferable me?” Draco leaned forward from his seat by the protruding boulder, challenging Harry to answer.

Harry turned to look at the blonde-haired Slytherin and exhaled through the nose, amusement beginning to creep into his eyes. “Do I look like the thought is causing me such excruciating pain?” It only just occurred to Harry that he really didn’t feel as disinclined to the idea as he should be. On the whole, Draco had been so tolerable that he had never given the implications to giving up much thought before Draco himself brought it up.

“Do you realize that giving in to hopelessness is the same as saying that you find nothing detestable with the idea of being trapped with me—your least favorite person in the whole world?” Draco forged on, pounding into Harry’s head the implications of throwing in the towel.

“Haven’t we established before that you’re actually not that despicable?” Harry retorted, and thought that his _now_ real feelings towards the other boy might cause Ron to throttle him.

“Were we talking about my being not so despicable in the context of _forever_?” _Because that’s what we are facing if we give up. Just the two of us—forever—in this dream world. Can you handle being with me—just me—forever?_ Draco didn’t know what kind of answer he was hoping to get.

Harry clasped his hands over his lips and didn’t answer. _Do I want to stay here with just Draco forever?_ The answer used to be so clear. But now, Harry didn’t know why he was even hesitating. “Can _you_ handle being with _me_ in this dream forever, Draco?” _The easy way out was to throw the question back._ Harry waited for the answer, unsure of why he was holding his breath.

Draco swallowed the lump that had built up in his throat. For months and months even before what happened in the Astronomy Tower, Harry had filled his waking and slumbering thoughts. Without warning, without any sort of reason behind it, Harry had taken command of his whole life, overpowering his own will and resolve. He had been successful in pushing it to the back of his mind just so he could function properly, but Harry had always been there in the fringes of his thoughts, haunting him. Draco wanted to laugh. Oh if Harry only knew what Draco had had to deal with… _What is forever compared to what I’ve had to deal with?_

But Draco knew the implications of actually being in this world with only Harry for company. In the real world, he was able to deny what he felt because there were other people to make him forget, even momentarily, but here, there was no denying the attraction. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed to it. And what would happen then? He had once been rejected by Harry Potter; could he really handle another rejection? “What do you think the answer to that is, Harry?” Draco wanted to sound ambiguous.

“Are you scared, Draco?” Harry’s eyes were turned away.

“Of what?” _Shitless. But not for reasons you might think…_

“Me too,” Harry admitted, losing the game. “But you’re probably right.” Harry gave a Draco a tight-lipped smile. “Now is not the time to give up. When we have no hope, we have nothing.”

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“Didn’t daybreak come quickly the last time we were here? I distinctly remember not getting any sleep at all,” Draco caught Harry’s attention after a restless sleep, leaning against a boulder by the pond.

“Maybe there’s something we didn’t do. I can’t remember,” Harry said, plucking a leaf from a fern planted near him.

Draco stood up, dusted his robes off with one hand while keeping the coconut in the other. He walked towards the direction from which they came and faced the waterhole again. “When we arrived, we went to the pond immediately for a drink. Night fell soon afterwards, and then…” Draco trailed off, searching for something they might have missed. “We talked. And then you…” Draco’s gaze fell on Harry who was lounging on the bank of the pond and on the latter’s feet.

Harry snickered, finally remembering what it was he missed. “And then I took my shoes off and dipped my feet in the water. Right,” Harry snapped his fingers and commenced removing his battered footwear.

“I was about to say ‘behaved like an uncouth hooligan’, but this also works.” Draco smiled at him. Harry gave him a pseudo-frown.

Silence engulfed the two boys again. The only sounds were the soft splashes of water against Harry’s calf. Both were on their backs, drowning in the vastness of the evening skies before them. A shooting star flared in the heavens as if a lighted wand traced a line in the velvet darkness. “It’s your shooting star. Did you see it?”

Draco mumbled an affirmative.

“What happened to your nanny, Draco—the one who told you about wishing on falling stars?” Harry asked, out of the blue.

Draco stole a glance at the Gryffindor and replied, “I don’t know. After my father asked her to leave, I never heard from her again. She never did write like she promised.” He grinned in the darkness and couldn’t help but be pensive. “You know, it was only when I saw that falling star that I thought of her. It’s funny that it’s only now that I remember so many things about her, what she looked like, even the most obscure stories she had told me—after nearly twelve years since I saw her last. And even as I remember a lot about her, I can’t recall her name.”

“Maybe someday it’ll come to you, when you least expect it,” Harry said.

The two, in comfortable silence, watched the sky quickly lighten with the advent of daybreak. It was time to move again. Without any further words said, they left the waterhole, Draco’s coconut and whatever misgivings they had over undertaking their journey anew. They found the stream quickly, following their recollections of the last time they were there.

An easy conversation ranging from Quidditch to Muggle movies broke the silence between the two boys. The bewilderment over finding themselves back in the dirt road had all but faded in the background again as Harry introduced the concept of Muggle movies to his pureblood companion.

Silence befell them again as Draco contemplated the idea of cinemas and projections on big canvas panels. He fell a few paces behind the Gryffindor, struggling to understand all the mechanisms involved and thinking of criticisms to the convoluted method that only harebrained Muggles could’ve thought of, when Harry suddenly called him from his musings.

“Remember what you said back in the cave? That there must have been something we didn’t do?”

“Yeah—what about it?”

“The waterfalls. We could have jumped, but we didn’t. Instead we chose to take the mountain path that took us to the summit and we eventually found ourselves back in the dirt road. I mean, think of it this way, Draco, if we do things differently, like take the waterfalls option rather than the path, we could very well find ourselves free or we could take the path again and keep going around in circles,” Harry hinted, raising his dark eyebrows at Draco, prompting the other boy to realize what he was trying to say.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m jumping off the waterfalls.” Harry had made up his mind.

“ _Are you nuts_?” Draco hissed at him so venomously Harry actually took a step back. “Didn’t we agree that it was a plunge to guaranteed death and so it wasn’t even an option at the outset?” Draco crossed his arms over his chest with a look that was a cross between flabbergasted and annoyed. Extremely annoyed.

“We know what’s going to happen if we take the mountain path, but we don’t know what’ll happen if we pick the falls,” Harry began tentatively, hoping to get his point across without ruffling the Slytherin up completely. “Look, Draco, you don’t have to jump with me. At least if anything happens, you can still go on.”

“Thanks for the thoughtful consideration, Harry, but that just completely misses the point! None of us should have to risk our lives to be able to get out!” Draco gritted his teeth and threw his arms in exasperation. “I know you are selfless; I know you can be such a _Gryffindor_ , which in my book is a synonym for stupid, volunteering yourself to be a guinea pig, but it doesn’t have to be that way! And if you think I take comfort in your selfless and thoughtless sacrifice, I don’t.” Draco had to remind himself inwardly that Harry really had no clue about what Draco would take comfort in with regard to him. He wouldn’t even be able to imagine the horror that Draco was feeling at the thought of any danger to him. “Besides, we’ve been walking parallel to this blasted stream for ages, but there’s no sign of the waterfalls.”

Harry shrugged off his robes and the rest of his clothes and folded them as neatly as he could by the rocks that looked like a picnic table flanked by benches, and with a dramatic leap, plunged into the waters of the stream in his boxer shorts. “You’re supposed to be jumping in after me, Draco,” he called, combing his wet hair away from his face.

“Need I remind you of the last time I ignored my better judgment and jumped in there after you?”

Harry showered Draco with water by slapping the surface with his palms. Draco tried to avoid getting drenched but it was a half-hearted attempt. “Come on, you were the one who found our food,” Harry reminded him.

“Fine! Why do I have to do all the work around here?” Draco took his clothes off and joined Harry in the stream. They goofed around for a while, splashing each other and playing tag by wading through the water.

Draco noticed that Harry was actually a very physical person. He liked playing around by tugging on the lobe of Draco’s ear, or pinching Draco’s nose or wrestling around with Draco. Harry, of course, was unaware of what kind of effects these subtle contacts were making on his companion. By the time that the fish had slithered by Draco’s backside, he was just plain thankful that he now had the excuse to abandon Harry and his ministrations.

He intently watched Harry prepare their food after the latter had emerged, victoriously brandishing his catch like a warrior would the head of a slain enemy impaled on a stick. They ate in silence; Draco was afraid of bringing up the topic of the waterfall, half-wishing that nourishment had changed Harry’s mind about making the heart-stopping jump. He couldn’t even give so much as a passing comment that their feast looked so much like the mutated-looking fish they ate the last time they were there.

When they were sated, the two resumed their trek. Harry, when it became clear by the steadily increasing loudness of the rush of the water that the waterfall was somewhere ahead, started whistling. “Do you really have to sound like you’re looking forward to jumping off the waterfalls?” Draco asked, annoyed.

“Sorry,” Harry mouthed. He didn’t bother telling his companion that he was whistling to ease the butterflies in his stomach. He may be terrified but it certainly didn’t show as he hopped from one boulder to the next. It was as if he had springs on the balls of his feet. He skipped to the edge of the boulder-riddled path and craned his neck to try to see what could possibly be at the bottom. But as Draco also saw for himself, there was nothing but mist and nature’s good humor that concealed their waiting fate.

The blonde closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh to strengthen his resolve. “Draco—what do you think you’re doing?” Harry’s green eyes were wide, taking in the deportment of his companion.

“What the fuck does it look like? I’m not just going to stand here while you make the jump. I’m jumping with you!” Draco yelled through the din of the rushing water.

Harry nodded, tight-lipped. He didn’t dare open his mouth anymore as he was too scared to say anything remotely coherent anyway. Holding out his hand, Harry took an apprehensive step. _Here goes nothing…_ He felt Draco take his hand as they took a leap off the edge.

The whoosh of air filled Harry’s ears, and cold splashes of water seeped into his clothes, into his skin, into his bones. His eyes were shut tight; he didn’t want to open them for fear of what they were hurtling towards. His throat burned with a bloodcurdling scream that he refused to let escape through his lips. Apart from the sheer terror and the seeping cold, all Harry could feel was the warmth of Draco’s hand clenched in his.

Harry was half-surprised to find that Draco still hadn’t let go. But what surprised him more was the solace he felt in Draco’s tight grip. It was a like a lifeline, and he hung on to it for dear life. He had never felt so comforted by the fact that he was clutching on to _Draco Malfoy’s_ hand like a madman hanging on to the last vestiges of his reason.

It was then that Harry felt a pinch in his resolve. _Do you really want to wake up, Harry?_ A soft voice buzzed in the back of his mind. _Do you really want to wake up to that world where you and this person you are hanging on to so tightly are worse than strangers? Do you want to go back to how things used to be? Because you know, that’s what would happen… You know that outside of this world, appearances will have to be kept. Outside of this world, maybe you won’t even remember all the things you talked about, all the things you laughed about, all the things you thought you knew about him when you really had no idea. Do you want to go back to that world, Harry, when you know that there is so much more to Draco Malfoy you are dying to know?_

Opening his eyes suddenly, Harry’s feet sliced through the surface of the water, and before he was ready, water enveloped him in its freezing embrace. The turbulent current threw them around like clothes being laundered in a washing machine, and he soon lost hold of Draco’s hand.

 _Draco! No!_ Harry fought to open his eyes but the water was too furious around him. He couldn’t tell anymore which way was the surface. His arms and feet struggled to propel him to the surface as his lungs burned with cold water rushing through them.

It felt interminable, swimming, or rather energetically drifting, through the powerful current. Harry bobbed beneath and above the surface, taking stingy breaths of precious air once in a while as the rapids carried his body downstream. He tried calling for Draco once or twice but all he could come up with was a strangled choke.

“Draco!” Harry finally managed to yell through his hurting throat, gritted teeth and trembling lips.

“Harry!” A very faint call penetrated through Harry’s foggy consciousness. He tiredly propelled himself towards the banks from where he had heard the call. After what seemed like an incessant struggle with the merciless current, Harry was finally able to drag his body to the banks, coughing fitfully to get water out of his lungs. Draco helped him to a safer spot on the banks, his hands warm and reassuring against Harry’s drenched and exhausted body.

“How the bloody hell did you survive the Second task in the Triwizard Tournament with the way you swim?” Draco demanded, thumping Harry’s back to ease the laborious breathing of the latter.

“I used Gillyweed,” Harry muttered in between violent coughing fits.

“Fucking hell. A sick dog can swim better than you,” Draco criticized, but Harry could still sense that Draco was worried, although the latter was obviously trying not to sound like he was.

“Thanks for the concern,” Harry jokingly stated, turning to lie on his back to get as much oxygen into his lungs as possible.

“It looks like you were wrong. The waterfall was not the exit,” the Slytherin offered.

Harry sat up despite the fingers of exhaustion drawing him in and saw the same bunch of rocks, like a picnic table flanked by benches on two sides, on the other bank of the stream. They were back to that part of the stream where they ate not a couple of hours ago. “Bollocks!” Harry cursed.

They waited for what could’ve been half an hour for Harry to regain his strength and with Draco offering to help him up, they were on their way again. “We have no choice but to take the path,” Draco said, and Harry, though he was hugely frustrated again, nodded in agreement.

 _But isn’t this what you want, Harry?_ The little voice in his head was back again. What did he really want?

 _I want to know Draco. And I want to remember having known him the way this dream made it possible for me, in a way I never took the time to know him before._ Harry remembered again the feel of Draco’s hand in his and he smiled in spite of his frustration.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!

Harry wiped sweat off the side of his face with the sleeve of his already grimy robes and with a silent diatribe, heaved himself up the steep path, a few paces behind Draco, who was going slowly but surely, establishing his footing in the two-inch deep muck. The two boys had already lost the energy for small talk. They had been climbing steadily for what seemed like forever and the playful chatter they were engaged in at the beginning had long since died in their throats when it became clear to them that they needed every bit of their energy to climb the blasted mountain.

“Draco!” Harry groaned from behind. The blonde turned to his companion and saw that Harry was precariously hanging on to a low-slung vine, trembling and obviously exhausted to the point of collapse. “Please, can we stop for a while?” The Gryffindor was trying to catch his breath with every word. Talking looked excruciating for him.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, his tone etched with worry. He slumped on a protruding root and tried to meet the green eyes of his companion to discern if the other boy was relatively fine. _Course he isn’t fine! We’re wading through truckloads of mud, and swinging from one branch to another like monkeys yet again! To do this once was punishment enough and to have to go through it again is plain injustice!_

“How long do you think we’ve been climbing this goddamned mountain?” Harry combed his filthy fingers though his already messed up hair, making it stick up more.

“A bitch of a long time, but it’s really hard to say,” Draco said, pursing his lips. He couldn’t even begin to get mad at their predicament.

“I’ve been thinking, Draco. Remember the last time we were here, I nearly fell off the side of the path before we found the summit? What if that has to happen again for us to find the top?” Harry asked, meeting Draco’s eyes for the first time since they started the climb. “But last time, I was lucky because you were able to grab hold of me before I could hurtle through the slope. What if I won’t be so lucky this time?”

Draco closed his eyes and vigorously shook his head. “I don’t think you have to ‘slip’ again. That was an _accident_ , Harry. I’ve been thinking, too, and the pattern of this dream seems to be that our actions produce some kind of reaction. We had to find the waterhole for night to fall and you had to dip your feet in the water for daybreak to come. We had to swim in the stream and find the fish for us to find the waterfalls and we had to encounter the waterfalls before we found the mountain path, right?”

Harry nodded, apprehensively, trying to get where Draco could possibly be going with his explanation.

“Our actions produce some kind of reaction, _but_ what I observed is that all of our actions had to have been _intended_ by us. It was my choice to climb that coconut tree, like it was your choice to follow whatever it was you had to follow to get to the pond. It was also your intention to dip your feet in the water. And even if I was apprehensive to swim in the stream, I still _chose_ to do it, in any case. _Every intended action produces a reaction_. But when you slipped and you nearly fell, it wasn’t _intended_ , was it? It was an accident. So it couldn’t be the factor that is keeping us from finding the summit. There has to be something else we intentionally did before that we haven’t done yet, that’s why we’re still here,” Draco finished with a clap of his mud-caked hands. “Am I brilliant, or what?” He asked, haughtily.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head at the conceit of his companion. “How the _bloody hell_ were you able to come up with that convoluted _but logical_ —loath as I am to admit it—explanation for our long-drawn-out torture?” Harry asked, looking like he was won over albeit he was still inwardly trying to find a hole in the argument. It was also not without a look of admiration and amusement.

Draco hissed and grinned, sheepishly. “I have to admit, though, my brilliance was entirely brought on by my intense love of self. I was likewise trying to find some kind of justification for not getting myself bitten by the snake again,” he said.

“Well—it’s nice to note that some things never change,” Harry joked.

“Ha fucking ha, Harry. Can’t you just be glad that in wanting to save my hide, I save you as well with the use of my cool and collected logic? Otherwise, you’d be psyching yourself up for a very possible and painful journey down the side of the mountain,” Draco scoffed.

The Gryffindor chuckled. “Fine, you’re brilliant. Now, can we get out of here, please?” He stood up from his seat of gnarled root wrapped in moss and prepared to grab hold of a clump of vines.

Draco similarly rose from his seat and dusted off his grubby clothes quite pointlessly. “Can you remember who saw the clearing first?”

“I think I did,” Harry replied.

“Well—if you were going behind me, how were you able to see it before I did? Unless—“

“We switched! I remember now. After I nearly fell, you said I could go in front you. That’s why I saw the clearing first,” Harry finished with an enthusiastic snap of his fingers.

“After you, then,” Draco said, yielding to Harry with a royal wave of his hand. Harry took up the spot in front of Draco and continued climbing. Their silence was taken over by the noisy squishes of their shoes against mud and their heavy breathing as they climbed higher up the mountain. Apart from this, there was a ringing in their ears because of the pressure of the high altitude.

Before either of them could feel exhaustion again, Harry finally saw the break in the canopy of trees, where fingers of light broke through the mist, rendering the swirling pollen silver.

The summit was exactly how it looked when the two first found it. The horse was still tethered to the gnarled tree trunk; the fallen log was still innocently splayed on the ground, carpeted with thick grass and rose petals, once or twice riding the wind blowing over the mesa; the bougainvillea bushes were still thick with pink flowers; and the blue-tinged mountains in the fog were still as majestic as before. “Who’d have thought we’d be finding ourselves here again?” Harry smoothed the white horse’s mane with a slightly pained look in his green eyes.

“Hello Pegasus,” Draco said, joining Harry by the white horse’s side and petting the animal behind its ears. “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, thinking it better not to answer Harry lest the latter would start blaming himself again for something neither of them could have foreseen. “I wasn’t able to thank you for helping to save my life before.” Draco gave a tight-lipped smile and continued smoothing the silvery mane of the horse.

Harry chuckled and moved towards Draco’s favorite boulder by the other slope of the mountain to take a seat, leaving Draco by Pegasus’s side.

“Why do I get the feeling that something’s bothering you?” Draco asked, slumping on the ground beside the boulder and leaning his arms at an angle behind him. “Spit it out,” he persuaded.

“It was my fault that the waterfalls didn’t work,” Harry revealed. There was silence as Draco’s eyes narrowed, clearly failing to comprehend what Harry could possibly mean by his apology.

“What makes you think that, exactly?”

 _Why didn’t the falls work?_ Harry asked himself, although he knew that it could only have been because of his hesitation. He wasn’t as single-mindedly focused on getting back to the real world as he should have been. _So why weren’t you?_ The little voice inside Harry’s head was back. He knew Draco was waiting for him to explain himself, but he didn’t say anything. He refused even to meet the other boy’s inquiring eyes. _You wanted to stay here. You didn’t want to go back to how things used to be between you and Draco. And because of your hesitation, the waterfalls didn’t work. You’re still trapped here._

Harry stretched his hand out towards the other boy and stuck out his pinkie. “I didn’t want to wake up yet because I need you to promise me something first.”

Draco took a good long look at the pinkie being proffered under his very nose. “What?”

“I need you to promise me that you won’t forget. You won’t forget all the things we talked about. All the things we found out about each other. All the times we laughed at each other’s jokes. Promise me that you won’t forget the times that you saved my life and I saved yours. Don’t forget that we said we’d try to be friends. I need to hear you say that you won’t forget, Draco,” Harry requested, still poking the pinkie in Draco’s direction. “Swear to me that you won’t. Whatever happens, swear to me that you won’t forget.”

The Slytherin looked up from the tendered pinkie to meet the bright green eyes, intently looking back at him. Draco gave a lopsided grin and said, “You know—there are so many things you don’t know about me, Harry…things that might make you think twice about wanting to be my friend. Sure, we are alike in many ways but we are more different than we are similar, and the world we live in tends to emphasize our differences. I—I don’t—“

“I’m not even going to listen to your tirade about our so-called differences. I think I know enough about Draco Malfoy to think that we _can_ be friends. It might have taken me seven years to be able to know enough, but I believe it’s not yet too late. And if we could remember all of the things this dream made us realize about each other, I think friendship is not an impossibility.

“I don’t want to be like we were before. Not after all of the things we went through in this place,” Harry said, his pinkie was still stubbornly extended towards Draco.

Draco closed his eyes. He wanted to tell Harry the real reason for his apprehension. _I don’t think I can be friends with you, Harry. I don’t think I can bear it if I have to be just your friend…_ But he couldn’t. What kind of reply was he hoping to get anyway? Draco pointedly stared at the ridiculous pinkie in front of his face, bit his lower lip and sighed. He was lucky Harry was even offering him _something_. _How long have I waited for this? For Harry to tell me that I wasn’t so bad—that he was willing to be my friend?_ It was funny that it was only now that he was being offered friendship when friendship was no longer enough for him.

But Harry’s glittering green eyes, although looking away from him, were gentle and sincere in his request. _You’re so unfair, Harry! Oh if you only knew! If only I had the courage to tell you…_ “I promise I won’t forget,” Draco murmured, hooking his own pinkie with Harry’s.

Harry smiled, and Draco felt it tug at his heartstrings. “I will hold you to that promise, Draco.”

“I _still_ think you’re nuts though, offering friendship, and _pinkies_ to a Slytherin, former Death Eater and member of a family who are staunch supporters of purity of blood,” Draco scoffed, retracting his finger back from Harry’s grip with a slight sneer. “What makes you think you know enough about me?” He challenged.

“What do _I_ know about Draco Malfoy? I know that he is a great, big whiner. He screams like a girl—“

“I do not!”

“—yes, you do! And I know that you also have a thing for saving people, but you try your hardest not to look like you actually care when in fact, you really do. I know that you like climbing coconut trees for kicks. You are not very adventurous when it comes to food. You have never ridden a horse bareback nor laundered so much as a stitch of your clothes until very recently. You tell the corniest jokes. You talk in your sleep. You have a low threshold for pain. You give good massages. You’re a good swimmer—better than me, at least. You know how to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Your eyes change color depending on your mood. You are not a bad singer, a fairly good impersonator, an impressive logician. On the whole, fairly good company in the worst of times. Did I forget anything?”

“You forgot brilliant and amusing,” Draco supplied with a roll of his eyes. “I guess this means you really are hell bent on making a Harry Potter groupie out of this cunning Slytherin,” he said, giving a mock puking sound at what he had just said.

“Groupie—no; friend, certainly. But tell me, Draco, is it really so terrible—the idea of being my friend?”

“No—it’s the idea of being associated with your other friends that’s making me nauseated. Don’t expect me to be exchanging gossip with Weasley,” Draco derided, finally collapsing on his back on the ground beside the boulder where Harry was still sitting. He then tucked an arm on the back of his head to look at the floating clouds against the blue sky. “By the way, how are you going to explain to your friends your sudden urge to be charitable, offering a hand of friendship to a Slytherin once you wake up?”

Harry scratched the side of his nose and sniffed. “I’ll just tell them that it’s time to let go of our previous misconceptions and forge new bonds of friendship.”

“Like they’re really going to fall for that little noble speech?”

“If you start being nice to them, there’s no reason for them to doubt my actions,” Harry said, standing up from his throne and stretching his arms over his head. Draco scrambled to steal the prime seat from his companion by planting his own backside on the boulder the moment Harry relinquished it.

Draco whistled. “The moment I start being nice to them, Weasley would bury his fist in my tonsils. He’d think I’m just pulling a fast one. Haven’t we established enough that your friends hate me and that my friends hate you? I was under the impression that the seven years of overt hostility depicted exactly that or does this mean we weren’t making ourselves clear enough?”

Harry cleared his throat and rolled his eyes, sardonically. “What matters is I don’t hate you and you don’t hate me. We can work our way from there,” he stated, a slight smile on his lips when he glanced at Draco from out of the corner of his eye.

The blonde felt his cheeks twitch in an involuntary grin, which he wiped off his face quickly, fearing that Harry would misinterpret his smile. The last thing he wanted was to give Harry an idea about what he felt for the Gryffindor. “It’s your funeral,” he said.

Harry went to Pegasus’ side and busied himself with untying the horse’s reins from the tree stump. And once he was able to get them loose, the afternoon sky darkened to twilight and the first few stars appeared on the visage of heaven. The two boys were quiet, watching the valley’s colors change from bright greens and blues to olives and gray silvers under the blanket of stars. The river in the valley was like a gash against the skin of a unicorn, flowing molten silver through the landscape of ominous browns and greens.

“Have you ever seen the lake at Hogwarts at midnight from the Astronomy Tower?” Harry asked, intruding into Draco’s thoughts, having retied Pegasus to the stump after night had fallen.

“No. You?”

“Yeah, I have. It’s almost as beautiful as this,” Harry answered, motioning to the peaceful valley below them. He settled on the patch of grass beside Draco’s boulder and knotted his hands together.

“Almost?”

“I used to stay in the Astronomy Tower until past midnight, all by myself because I couldn’t sleep. And I always marveled at the beauty of the Hogwarts landscape, but then again, I had no one to share that beauty with. I was all alone. This valley is more beautiful because, well, I don’t have to ogle at it all by myself this time.” Harry folded his legs and hugged them close to his chest. “When we wake up, I’ll take you to the Astronomy Tower one time so you can see the view from there yourself.”

“I’d like that,” Draco softly replied. A huge lump settled in his throat then. _What are you doing, Draco? Are you such a masochist, making all these plans with Harry, actually looking forward to them? Whatever the hell happened to the promise you made to yourself that you were going to set yourself free from this madness? And the best way to go about it is if you get as far away from Harry Potter as it is humanly possible… The less you have to deal with him, the better chances you have of forgetting him. Dreams are dreams. Reality is another thing._ Draco closed his eyes and hung his head. At that point, which promise really mattered more to him? Which promise was he really going to keep, he didn’t know. He wanted to keep his promise to Harry but he knew nothing was going to come out of it. The promise was just like a falling star—brilliant and beautiful for as long as it streaked though the skies, but fleeting and impossible to last longer than it has to.

Whereas his promise to himself was practical, realistic and uncomplicated. When they woke up, they would just get back to the usual groove of things, no questions asked, no lives made complicated. He didn’t have to beat himself up over it, and Harry wouldn’t have to incite his friends’ wrath. They would just walk away with a minimum of pain—for both of them.

But in the back of Draco’s mind, he wanted to believe that dreams could be real, that falling stars though fleeting carried with them the fulfillment of wishes.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Draco was dreaming.

His body was aware of the cold. He wanted to wrap his arms around his torso to keep what little warmth he had, but his body was frozen in deep slumber. His mind was swimming with images, flashing behind his closed eyelids, sometimes slowly, sometimes so quickly that the scenery blended in a kaleidoscope of colors, burning his eyeballs within their sockets. The pictures flashed in reverse, in fast forward, scrambling and unscrambling like a hexed painting.

He saw the little tent, Harry’s swollen and bruised shoulder, the swing hanging from the acacia tree, the interminable sunset bathing them in orange glow, the falling star while they lay by the waterhole, the whirlpool of water when they jumped over the waterfalls, the mango tree by the brook, Harry bending over to suck venom from his leg, the snake-like river through the valley below, Harry laughing—more images he couldn’t place.

He could feel wind blowing over the mesa. Cold seeped into his clothes, penetrated his skin to the bones. But he couldn’t open his eyes. The scene of erratic images had shifted to that of darkness. In the darkness, two bodies were moving, closely… intimately, in time with the rhythm of lovemaking. But their faces were veiled by darkness, and there was no sound but the furious beating of Draco’s heart against his chest, no other feeling but the warmth on his cheeks and the tight vice-like grip on his gut. Who were these people? Where was he?

He took a tentative step in the darkness, taking him closer to the two people he was observing. He twisted his neck to look around. Squinting in the oily darkness, Draco could make out a clump of bushes to his right. Pink flowers were abundant on the bushes that seemed to form a hedge in the perimeter. A gnarled tree stump was also hazily visible. It looked as if he was still on the mesa, but who were these people?

He took another cautious step, but his foot slipped and he started to fall through what seemed like a hole in the ground. Just as he fell, the face of one of the two people on the mesa became visible.

 _It was him_.

He sat up abruptly with a gasp, a slight sheen of sweat on his face despite the cold that was cloaking his entire body. _No—it couldn’t be!_ He looked around. The mesa was softly lit by the sprinkling of stars overhead, but the feeble light was enough for Draco to see the hedges of bougainvilleas and the tree stump where Pegasus was tethered.

Draco’s heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. It all became clear to him where he’d seen all of the places in this dream world, why they were still there and what they had to do to get out of it. He was breathing deeply. He wanted to stay in denial, to take back the knowledge that was so suddenly thrust upon him. _What am I going to do? How do I tell Harry about it? Shit!_

He took hold of his head in a crushing grip; he’d crush his head to a pulp if he could. But the knowledge was still there, mapped out and spelled out for him like a potion-making procedure, vividly emblazoned in his mind. But he wished he could forget, like what happened last time. He wished he could disregard the swirling and churning of his stomach.

Draco stood up, half-crawled, half-sprinted to the far end of the mesa and hurled the swirling incredulity from his stomach. He vomited furiously, wishing he could similarly eject what he had just found out from his system. But he knew it was impossible. He tried blinking away the tears prickling his eyes, but it was also futile. He didn’t even know why he was crying. Was it because of the shock of finding out what had to be done to get out of this world, or was it because of the fear of having to face Harry and actually tell him what Draco swore to take to his grave?

“Draco—Merlin—are you OK?” Harry knelt beside Draco and started patting the latter’s back. His hand was warm and heavy against Draco’s skin, causing more pain than comfort. Harry continued patting Draco’s back even after the latter had stopped vomiting. Draco kept silent, though. He didn’t want to talk to Harry, look at Harry, or even hear Harry breathing beside him.

“I’m alright,” Draco said, dismissively. “I just had a coughing fit.” He abruptly rose from his hunching position and walked away from Harry, curtly unmindful that the latter was still concernedly rubbing a comforting hand on his back.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Harry asked, ignoring the brush off by his companion. He returned to his position by the fallen log and sat on the ground with his legs folded before him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I already said I’m fine, didn’t I?” Draco snapped.

“Fine. You don’t have to bite my head off, you know,” Harry tersely replied. He lay down on the ground again with a huff. “Next time I worry about you I’ll just bash my head against a rock for all the good that’ll do me.”

Draco opened his mouth to start a barrage of apologies, but just closed it again, thinking it was better if he let Harry stay mad at him. _That way he doesn’t have to talk to me and he will never find out that I know what we have to do to get out of here…_ Draco wordlessly settled on his favorite boulder and gazed at the landscape of the valley below. He planted a leg on the boulder, hugged it close to his body and propped his chin on his knee. He was afraid to go back to sleep. It had been so long ago since he felt this same fear, this same dread. He was also afraid of what the morning would bring with it. How was he going to deal with Harry now that he knew what he knew? He was such a goddamned coward!

 _You’re far better off hating me, Harry. You_ should _hate me because I am a lying, self-absorbed prick!_ Draco knew in his heart of hearts that he would never be able to tell Harry what he knew. Harry would never be able to forgive him for this. But then again, the alternative carried with it implications far more difficult to deal with. For both of them.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Draco would have preferred not to have to touch Harry, not even Harry’s clothing, not a single square inch of his skin. He would have been only too happy not to have a whiff of Harry’s scent, not the characteristic smell of his hair, not even the sweet trace of the Jamaican berries on his wind-chapped lips. He would have given anything not to have to talk to Harry. He didn’t want to have anything to do with Harry Potter—at all. But as they streaked through the woods astride Pegasus, with Draco’s teeth rattling as they were tossed and jostled in their journey, he was forced to keep a strong grip on Harry—one hand scrunching the fabric of the robes on Harry’s shoulders and the other on his waist.

Harry, sensing Draco’s mood, didn’t try to initiate small talk. Draco thought Harry was in a mood himself because both of them looked content not speaking to each other. Draco watched Harry’s profile through hooded eyelids, noting that Harry’s jaw was set fiercely as if it was excruciating for him to keep his mouth shut. But Draco was marginally thankful that Harry was respecting his self-imposed silence.

When the Gryffindor caught a glimpse of the brook with the mango tree by its banks, he pulled on the reins to turn the horse towards its direction. Upon full stop, Harry swung his leg in front of him, slid off the horse agilely and proceeded to the brook without offering to help his companion off the steed. Draco just sighed and clambered off the horse. _What were you expecting, that he’d be all cute—begging you to talk to him again—like last time? Well, this time you pushed too far, Draco! And besides weren’t you convinced just last night that this was better for both of you?_

Harry knelt by the brook and cupped his hands for a drink. But from out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other boy scramble off the horse without so much as a characteristic Draco Malfoy whine. He narrowed his eyes. What was the matter? _Did I say something weird last night? Maybe he got weirded out when I made him promise not to forget about what happened to us in this dream?_ Harry didn’t want to have to confront Draco because he didn’t even know what could have driven Draco to start giving him the silent treatment. But he was worried, irritated and bored out of his mind. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he missed the other boy… he missed joking with Draco, singing with Draco, just talking with Draco about anything in the sun. _This dream is seriously messing with my mind! I can’t believe I miss Draco just because he hasn’t been talking to me! He’s being a first class primadonna-prick, but instead of being mad at him, I just want him to talk to me again! Maybe there’s something nasty in the air I’ve been inhaling in this dream, and it’s scrambling my brains up really good!_

Pinching his lips between his thumb and forefinger, Harry shook his head vigorously. He should really dispel these thoughts so he’d be able to focus on how to get the hell back to reality. If Draco had problems with being his friend, whether in the dream world or in the real world, well, that was his problem. Harry punched the side of his head with a mumbled admonition to himself. He then busied himself with removing his clothes to wash them in the brook, like last time.

Draco blinked, clearing his cloudy vision. _Did Harry just thump his fist against his head?_ He wanted to snort in amusement. But he stopped himself. _Stop finding everything he does cute. It’s not cute, and your masochism is not fucking cute! Yeah, it’s not going to be cute when he finds out what you have to do to get out of this dream. It’s not cute staying here forever because that’s what you’re looking at when you don’t tell him anything, fucker!_

To tell or not to tell, that was the bloody question…

Harry immersed himself underwater. Draco just stood there, internally debating with himself whether to tell Harry anything. He was a bit breathless, trying to form in his head exactly what to tell Harry. He realized he was going to have to tell the other boy everything: what he’s been dreaming, what he thought should be done if they wanted to get the hell out of there…every goddamn thing! _But if I keep my mouth shut, Harry doesn’t have to know! Of course, we will have to stay here for all eternity, going around in circles, with only each other for company. Merlin! How the bloody hell do I deal with that when every minute with him is an excruciating mix of bliss and agony?_

But Draco missed him. Harry was right fucking there and Draco missed him! Life was so much more interesting when he and Harry were on speaking terms. Sure, it was also a lot more heartbreaking to have to be with Harry in a way that wasn’t really doing Draco any favors, but it was a hell of a lot better than _this_! He mimicked his companion’s actions and gingerly took his clothes off for a dip in the brook.

When he dove into the water himself, Harry was doing laps from one end of the brook to the other, pointedly minding his own business. Draco waded towards the middle of the brook, mumbling to himself. _You’re just going to have to grit your teeth and apologize for being such an arse! You don’t really have to tell him anything you don’t want him to know! You can still be like you were before without telling him how to get out of this dream! Swallow your goddamned pride and just say you’re sorry!_

The blonde continued to wade his way to the far end of the brook where Harry was still doing his laps. “Harry!” Draco hollered, but the call fell on deaf ears because instead of turning to look at him, Harry just took another dive underwater.

“Harry! You dimwit—I’m trying to apologize here—,” Draco accidentally slipped on a smooth pebble and he went under water, half-sputtering, half-choking. Arms encircled his waist and Harry’s powerful arms righted him. The Gryffindor swiped Draco’s wet bangs from his eyes with a stern look on his face.

“For what?” Harry asked. His hands were unusually gentle as he combed Draco’s wet blonde hair away from the latter’s face, but the tone of his voice wasn’t.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you last night. I—I just had a bad dream…that’s all,” Draco muttered, slowly becoming painfully aware of Harry’s hands keeping his hair from sticking to his face, his fingers rubbing out the mud that had caked on Draco’s cheeks. Draco averted his gaze away from Harry’s stern face, silently praying that Harry wouldn’t see through his vague statement.

Harry exhaled through his nose and made a ‘tsk’ sound, as if reprimanding Draco for having acted so childishly. “Do you want to talk about it?” He offered. His green eyes softened.

“It wasn’t anything important. It was just a stupid nightmare,” Draco said, turning away from Harry and continuing what Harry started, vigorously scrubbing his face free of hardened muck. _You are so going to pay dearly for this, Draco! Harry deserves the truth and you decided to protect your hide instead of giving him the truth that he deserves._

Draco dared to steal a glance at Harry.”OK,” Harry said. ”You missed a spot,” Harry chided, nodding towards Draco’s face.

The Slytherin resumed the scrubbing of his cheeks. He could feel the skin smarting because of his forceful efforts. He just wanted to hide his shame, his cowardice by keeping his hands busy, scratching his skin off. If only he could likewise scratch away the guilt eating at him from the inside, he would. But he had already chosen a path—the path of lies, the path that will keep Harry imprisoned in this world forever. He was such a selfish, cruel, cowardly bastard. _How can you say that you care for Harry when you’re willing to put him through this just to protect yourself?_

_But you are a Slytherin, Draco, lying through your teeth should be a piece of cake!_

But it wasn’t.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Harry told off, gripping Draco’s wrists to keep the latter from practically gouging his eyes out with his fingers. With a kind hand, Harry thumbed off the strip of caked mud above Draco’s eyebrow. “There you go,” he whispered, his breath hot against Draco’s cheek.

“It was boring as hell when you weren’t talking to me.” The Gryffindor said it in a matter-of-fact way. Harry’s touch was still warm and comforting against Draco’s face. And Draco was momentarily short of breath when Harry averted his gaze. _He has the longest, sexiest eyelashes in the Wizarding World…_

“I—“ But Draco couldn’t find the words to say. He knew there were no words. There were no words to describe what he was condemning Harry to suffer.

_I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so, so sorry…_


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the reasons why this story is rated M is here.
> 
> A bit of a cliffhanger here (if you squint).
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left Kudos and comments on this story! Keep 'em coming as they are much appreciated!
> 
> Here we go...

“I can’t believe you have parties in Slytherin as wild as that!” Harry half-ogled, half-mused at Draco, who was securing the stash of mangoes on Pegasus with a smirk on his face. They went about their little chores to get ready to leave the ruins they had found without delay for a second time in their dysfunctional adventure.

“You know, just because you Gryffindors are such goody-goodies doesn’t mean all of us have to be drinking milk and eating bagels during parties. Deal with it that some houses really know how to throw parties while others just watch and wonder endlessly how we do it,” Draco bragged, patting Pegasus’s flanks. Harry snorted and climbed a protruding rock to be able to mount the horse. He then extended a hand which Draco took to hoist himself on Pegasus’s back.

The Gryffindor flicked the makeshift reins and Pegasus was off to an energetic trot. Harry’s spirits were equally festive as the horse’s hooves. He and Draco were talking again, and for Harry, it was enough to bring a hint of a smile on his lips and a feeling that he could face anything this dream would dish out. But he scrunched his lips to erase the vague smile that had been resting there; he didn’t want Draco to notice how the present state of things between the two of them was making Harry smile. Because even Harry himself couldn’t explain _why_ , in the name of Merlin, was their predicament making him happy and contented now! They were still trapped without a clue as to how to get out of this dream world, and they were doomed to repeat their steps _ad infinitum_ if they didn’t get a clue soon.

When they have already been riding hard for some time, Draco pointed to ominous-looking rain clouds in the horizon, closing in on them from all sides. “Looks like rain. We need to find shelter really fast,” Draco yelled from behind.

“I don’t understand! The last time we were here, I saw the rainclouds close in on us, too, but they’re not gathering as fast as last time,” Harry hollered to his companion.

“Let me get this straight—you think those clouds aren’t gathering fast enough? What—you want it to rain?! While we’re still out here, painfully exposed to the elements?! Harry, we’d be drenched in seconds!” Draco roared, tugging at Harry’s robes frantically.

“But it has to rain first before we find the inn. I positively remember that,” Harry answered. “You were half-unconscious the last time, but _I_ distinctly remember,” he added. He nudged both sides of Pegasus’s body with the heels of his feet to make the steed go faster.

“Maybe you should slow down! I can’t think while being thrown around like this!” Draco, through gritted teeth, said. But, much to the blonde’s chagrin, they still kept on going at a pace that was inhumanly fast. “I’m serious, Harry. You have to slow down or you’re going to have to pick pieces of me from the ground!” He felt like he was being manhandled in the worst possible way.

“Put your arms around me!”

Draco must have misheard. It was this horse ride—rattling his brain out from within his skull. Was Harry actually telling him to… “What?”

“I said…put your arms around me! Wrap them around my waist really tight!”

Draco’s eyebrows narrowed. He must have missed something. Harry was actually asking, no— _demanding_ —for physical contact! The blonde would’ve only been too eager to smother Harry with more than just an embrace, but he fought to regain control of his remaining wits. “That’s not an excuse to pick up speed, is it?”

“You were delirious before. There were many times when you almost slipped off the horse so I asked you to hold on to me. And you wrapped your arms tightly around my waist. Shortly after that, it had started raining. It was only after that that I saw the inn. Just… just trust me on this one, OK?” Harry asked, grip on the reins tightening.

Draco cautiously encircled his arms around the other boy’s waist, inwardly chastising himself for not remembering any of that happy, happy affair that he actually had permission to embrace Harry, which before then, had only been what his dreams were made of. At the same time, a part of him was thankful that he wasn’t in his right mind the first time this happened because it was bad enough that it was taking all of his willpower not to gurgle in bliss this time around.

 _A lot of things have changed between then and now. Or have you forgotten?_ The glee of feeling Harry’s warmth against his body was soon replaced with guilt. He had no right to feel happy that he finally had Harry Potter in his arms. It was, after all, because of his selfishness that they were still there. Draco clenched his fists against Harry’s abdomen and when Harry enclosed his own hand around Draco’s clasped ones, the latter felt like he’d been burned. He wanted to let go of Harry; falling off the godforsaken horse bedamned!

Harry felt Draco’s discomfort at having to hang on to him for dear life. The Gryffindor wanted to ask Draco if the latter was fine, but he held himself back. The memory of Draco’s outburst in the summit flashed across his mind. _After all the things we’ve been through, Draco still remains a mystery to me._ Harry released Draco’s hands and took hold of the reins again with a sigh through pursed lips. He couldn’t understand himself. What’s with the fascination for Draco Malfoy? Why did he want to get to know the Slytherin? What could possibly come out of it, he couldn’t tell.

A flash of lightning illuminated the overcast skies and a clap of thunder followed soon after. The thundering of the horse’s hooves was soon drowned out by the scattered rumbling of the approaching storm. “Hang on!” Harry shook the reins more vigorously.

Draco’s fingers balled into fists against Harry’s stomach, scrunching the fabric of the latter’s shirt within his palms. And as much as Harry wanted to ignore it, he could feel the frenetic beating of Draco’s heart against his back. Or maybe that was his. The horse’s mouth was frothing with exertion, but Harry knew better than to let up. The landscape was too open. There wasn’t so much as a sparse tree they could take shelter under.

 _I’m going to throw up!_ But before Draco could utter so much as a squeak, it started to drizzle. The drizzle turned to a downpour, so heavy that the water showering over them began to feel like a suffocating curtain. “I can’t see a thing!” Draco hollered through the din of the storm. Everything was swathed in gray. The occasional glistening of the few shrubs around came from the cracks of lightning, seemingly splintering the sky in a dozen pieces. “Maybe we took a wrong turn somewhere!” There were some stout shrubs, some jagged boulders and overrun logs of long-dead trees but no inn.

“It has to be here somewhere!” Harry wiped the back of his hand against the lens of his glasses to clear them with his other hand securing the reins.

In Draco’s opinion, they were still going too fast considering that they were nearly blind in the rain. He was on the verge of telling Harry to slow down for the umpteenth time when lightning split the sky again and he saw it, a structure in the distance, about fifty paces northeast from where they were streaking through the storm.

“I see it!”

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

They must have looked pitiful. They were drenched to the bone, hair sticking to their foreheads, teeth chattering in their mouths and lips turning blue because of the cold. They looked like they swam to the inn instead of riding a horse. It only took the innkeepers one look at them to know they needed help.

“Poor dears—riding through an ugly storm like that! How long have you been on the road, if you don’t mind my asking?” A woman, who reminded Harry so much of Mrs. Weasley, handed them fluffy white towels to dry themselves with. Her voice was tinged with concern. She had asked a man to guide their horse to the stables the moment Harry and Draco came staggering into the inn’s front hall, and she had ushered them to some comfortable-looking chairs by the healthy, roaring fire, for which the two young men were quite thankful.

“We have no idea. Maybe three or four days,” Draco answered, accepting another towel from the kind woman with a tight-lipped smile.

Another woman, who was not much older but taller and lankier than the first, set a tray of biscuits and tea on the small round table before them. Harry bowed his thanks before the woman left and quickly cupped a mug of warm tea between his half-frozen fingers. “Thank you for your kindness, ma’am,” Harry mouthed towards the woman who reminded him of Mrs.Weasley.

“I am glad to be of service, dear. I’m Mrs. Desmond and the man who took care of your steed was my husband. We own this inn,” the woman remarked with a bright smile. “Now, if I am not mistaken, you will need a room for the night or at least until the storm passes.”

Harry bit his lower lip and met Draco eyes. “We do want to stay here, but I’m afraid we have no money with which to pay. The horse and some mangoes are all we’ve got.”

“Oh goodness, were you robbed? People from the neighboring towns can be a bit unfriendly,” Mrs. Desmond said.

 _What neighboring towns? I’d much rather we were robbed compared to what we’ve just been through!_ Draco wanted to snort derisively. Harry gave him a long scathing look that made him swallow what he was itching to say.

“Something like that. Mrs. Desmond, we really need a room for the night and some supplies for our journey. Will you be willing to help us in exchange for the horse and mangoes? Please, we really need your help,” Harry pleaded. His green eyes were arrestingly innocent. When Harry turned the charm on, it was hard to say no to him. Draco knew from experience.

“Of course, dear, we would be glad to give you what you need in exchange for the horse and the mangoes. I cannot imagine what misfortune must have befallen the two of you on the road, and we would like to help in whatever way we can. Now—why don’t you stay here while I see to your room and some dinner? It is a bit crazy around here tonight. We’re quite packed. But I’m sure we can arrange something.” Mrs. Desmond stood up and went to the reception desk to confer with her husband regarding their offer.

Draco rubbed the towel against the side of his head languidly. His hair was dark blonde and still dripping in some places. “She’s very motherly,” said Draco. “I’m curious, Harry. Was the conversation this time around different from when we were here last?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. She agreed to your proposal quite fast,” Draco drawled, grabbing a biscuit from the tray.

“It’s called Power of Persuasion,” Harry retorted, taking a scalding gulp of tea. “Conversation this time is more direct to the point actually. The last time I was half-crazed because of panic that you would die of snake venom. I stuttered and blathered my way to an exchange for Pegasus. In the end, she was just so relieved I was able to form eight coherent words that she had already yes before I got the last word out of my mouth.”

“You weren’t able to ask her before about where we are because of me, but it’s different this time. What if she knows something? Harry, what if she can help us get out of here?” Draco murmured. _There has to be another way out apart from… If there is, there’s some chance that these people can tell us._ Draco knew it was a long shot. In the depths of his heart, he was afraid there was no other way apart from what he discovered. But really, there was no chance in hell he was going to be the one to tell Harry what had to be done. He just wasn’t brave enough to admit to Harry that this was _his dream_ and that to get out, they had to, well, do what was always done in his dreams. _I would rather swim in a vat of boiling snake venom than explain to Harry._

Harry turned and shot Draco a soul-searching stare. The Gryffindor’s green eyes glimmered and a devious grin slowly formed on his lips.

“Of course…” Harry stood up and walked briskly to where the Desmond spouses were giving instruction to two boys. When Harry was just a few paces away, the two boys left with Mr. Desmond for a room adjacent to the reception area.

“We were just letting those boys know what you need and they will fetch supplies from our pantry for you. Your room is nearly ready. But I’m afraid it only has a single bed. Will that suffice?” Mrs. Desmond turned to him and said kindly, her amber eyes warm and amiable.

“We are already abusing your kindness. Any available room you have is fine with us. There’s…  something else we need to ask you, Mrs. Desmond,” Harry began, carefully forming words inside his head. _How do you tell a woman that she is only a figment of your imagination, and that this world is just a dream that you need to wake up from?_

“Ask away, dear.”

“We need to know where we are and how to get out of here.”

“You are in the town of Drerinsor. Didn’t you see the boundary stone about three miles from here?”

“No, we’re not in Drerinsor. And if we _are_ , we know that there really is no such place as Drerinsor. We know that this is a _dream_ , Mrs. Desmond. We’ve been trapped here for goodness-knows-how-long, and we really want to get out now. Our friends are waiting for us; they’re probably worried sick already. _Please_. We need to know how to get out…” Harry trailed off. Mrs. Desmond was looking at him as if he’d just puked out a live chicken.

“This is our second time to be here. Everything just goes around in a circle. And the longer we stay here, the more hopeless we get. Please, Mrs. Desmond, you have to help us. You have to know how to cheat this place. Please.” Harry didn’t know if all he’d been able to accomplish was to make Mrs. Desmond think that he was stark raving bonkers. Well, he very nearly was. So what the hell…

He turned his head to steal a glance at Draco. The Slytherin was staring off into space, deep in thought while robotically toweling his hair dry. Why hadn’t he let Draco deal with this?

Harry was sinking into quiet resignation, when he noticed that Mrs. Desmond was looking kindly at him again. “You are asking the wrong person, child. I do not have the answer.” The woman’s voice was so soft and serene, it didn’t sound like her voice at all.

Blinking his incredulity away, Harry stepped closer to Mrs. Desmond. “You are part of this world! Surely you must know something. Please, Mrs. Desmond. My friend and I, we’ve nearly died many times in this nightmare. You are our only hope,” Harry begged. He would grovel at this woman’s feet if it ever came to that.

“No child, I do not have the answer. _You do._ Maybe you are not yet ready to see it, but the answer has always been with you and your friend. When you are ready, you won’t even have to look for the way out. It will be right in front of you,” the woman softly said, touching Harry’s hand and giving it a cursory pat. “The way out of Drerinsor, dear, is through the main highway that will take you to the adjacent town of Brenington.” She no longer sounded otherworldly. The woman’s eager and bubbly voice had returned.

Harry breathed a heavy sigh as a young woman respectfully interrupted them to say that their room was ready. “I will fix everything you have requested, dear. As for dinner, I will send a young lady to deliver your food shortly. Is there anything else?”

“May we also have a change of clothes and have these laundered with detergent?” Harry fingered his frayed robes that badly needed washing. His mind was still swimming with Mrs. Desmond’s mysterious reply, but he knew that that was all there was to it. The compassionate woman had no more knowledge about this dream world apart from the puzzling words she had just said.

 _“I do not have the answer. You do… You do...”_ Mrs. Desmond’s words kept on resonating in his mind as he and Draco wordlessly followed the young girl to their room

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“What did she say?”

Harry had been quiet since he’d had a word with Mrs. Desmond. They were shown into the same room they had occupied before with a promise that their dinner would be delivered in a jiffy. And Harry hadn’t said a word since the young girl had left them.

“Confusing riddles. She said the answer is with us all along and that it’ll come to us, what we have to do to get out, when we’re ready,” Harry breathed a strained sigh of frustration. “She knows something. I know she does. But she just mouthed crazy stuff that the answer is in us all this time. I mean… if it were, shouldn’t it have surfaced by now? We’ve already had a lot of time to sit on it, we’ve nearly died—I dunno, I’ve lost count—and…when does she expect us to stumble upon the answer?!” The disbelief, anger and frustration were all evident in Harry’s words.

Draco averted his gaze and preferred to look at the rain-pelted window of the room. He didn’t want to have to look at Harry. He was afraid that his face would give his knowledge away. _Of course, the woman spoke true. The answer is in us… In me… since this is my dream. Only it had already occurred to me—what needed to be done, but I just can’t bring myself to explain to Harry. Yup, that would be the mother of all small talk—‘Hey Harry, I know how we’re going to get out. We just need to fuck! Now, isn’t that a piece of cake? So what do you say—should we get right down to it?’_ Draco fought the urge to break into maniacal laughter that could easily turn to hysterical sobs. How long could he keep it bottled up inside? How long will his strength to keep it from Harry hold out? Ever since he found out, he couldn’t look straight into Harry’s eyes, save for that one time in the brook, because every time he did, he felt like breaking down. But he knew that even if he was on the brink, and even if he _did_ break down, he’d never, ever… _ever_ … tell Harry what they had to do to get themselves out.

And sometimes, he would catch Harry looking at him, trying to size him up, or smelling something fishy, Draco didn’t know. But he feared that it was only a matter of time before Harry’s sharp instincts told him that Draco was hiding something. What would Draco do then?

“Maybe _that_ is all she knows. After all, she _is_ just a figment of our imagination, a mere character in this dream world. A chess piece, placed on a square by a Grandmaster. She wouldn’t know the rules of the game, would she? Only the Grandmaster playing the game would know,” Draco mouthed, his gaze faraway, unfocused. “I’m sorry I even suggested it, Harry. I guess, I was kind of hoping, too, that she would know something,” he continued, this time meeting Harry’s green eyed gaze for a fleeting moment.

“Don’t apologize,” was all that Harry muttered back. _I kind of hoped, too._

Hours later, after having changed and eaten supper, Harry was still staring hard at the peeling wallpaper. _What could she mean by that? That the answer will come to us when we’re ready? How do I know I’m ready? I could have the way out dancing in front of me all along, but I just don’t see it._ His head was starting to hurt, but he couldn’t let it go. At least Draco was asleep; one of them would feel remotely like a human being tomorrow.

He couldn’t even stand up to take his turn in the bathroom because he was so preoccupied with what the woman told him. Grabbing a towel from the headboard of the bed, he mustered his resolve to put it out of his mind long enough to splash water on his face and maybe take a piss.

The lukewarm water felt good on his face. It washed away a bit of the feverish confusion threatening to overcome him. Harry had both palms against the sink, his head hung low. If only he could drown himself! _Well, I had nearly drowned twice in this bloody dream, but I’m still here!_ OK, drowning was out of the question.

He opened the tap again and cupped water in his palms to splash on his face. _You can’t stay here and wash your face to oblivion, Harry._ He needed painkillers to quell the throbbing of his brain in his skull. He looked around the bathroom, but there was nothing that could substitute for a good solid dose of… what was that painkiller his Uncle Vernon used to take, he couldn’t remember. He looked at his dejected reflection on the bathroom mirror and realized that the mirror was not level with the wall. It was a cabinet. _Maybe there are painkillers inside!_

Opening the door of the cabinet, Harry saw that there were no painkillers, no sleeping pills. _Damn…_ There was only one thing there.

A tube of lubricant.

What was the young girl thinking when she fixed their room up? That he and Draco would… It was so scandalous that Harry wanted to laugh. In fact, he wanted to go into the room, wake Draco up and share the joke. But all he could do was lift the tube out of the cabinet and stare dumbly at it.

And then like a tidal wave blanketing his thrashing body, Harry remembered. This room. The acacia tree. The cave. Dreams. _His dreams_ …of Draco Malfoy. Harry remembered like it was just yesterday that he had had those graphically sexual dreams, when he awoke to his labored breathing and the sheets sticking to his sweaty body and his pajamas sticking to… Merlin! The details had never been as clear in his mind as they were now. His heart was beating so loudly, he could hear it in his ears. His breaths came in short gagging gasps. _No, no—it can’t be!_

The tube of lubricant slipped from his shaking fingers and clattered against the porcelain sink. He knew now what Mrs. Desmond was talking about.

_“When you are ready, you won’t even have to look for the way out. It will be right in front of you…”_

A knock on the bathroom door jolted Harry out of his trance. He plucked the tube of lubricant gingerly from the sink where it had fallen like it was something vile. Disbelief and fear washed through every nerve, every pore in Harry’s body. How in the world was he going to tell the boy on the other side of the door what they were supposed to do?

“Harry? You alright? I thought I heard something drop.” Draco’s sleep-muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“I’m—I’m OK, Draco. I just dropped the shampoo bottle,” Harry said, barely above a whisper. He was afraid that if he spoke any louder, Draco would detect the panic in his voice.

“Just let me know if you want to go already, OK? The rain is still coming down and I have to use the loo after you for the rain to stop otherwise we’d be stuck here,” Draco exclaimed, rapping the door lightly again.

This time, Harry just murmured in acknowledgement, painfully aware of the horrid tube resting on his palm and the realization—and quiet resignation—permeating his resolve. He stuffed the tube in the front pocket of his jeans and began removing the rest of his clothes to take a shower. If anything… untoward… was going to happen, he might as well smell fresh enough for it.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Desmond Inn. What’s the matter? And don’t tell me that nothing’s up because I won’t believe you as you’re not a very convincing liar, Harry,” Draco finally blurted out after having endured what felt like hours of anxious silence from his companion. “You’re still thinking about what that woman said last night, aren’t you?” Draco continued, not giving Harry the opportunity to reply, which would have only been some cock-and-bull excuse.

“It’s more difficult _not_ to think about it actually.” Harry said with an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry if I’m not the best company today.”

With an understanding nod, Draco left it that. He couldn’t blame Harry, really. If he wasn’t already so crazy trying to hide the truth from Harry that he knew how they were going to get out of the dream, he’d be clawing his brains out trying to make heads or tails of what the woman said, too. But as it was, he already had his hands full, trying to keep an ignorant façade.

“Draco,” Harry murmured after some time of silence, taking Draco out of his guilty reverie.

The Slytherin shook his head to dislodge stray thoughts and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“If you find out first how to get out of this dream, you’d tell me, right?” Harry was absent-mindedly fingering a loose thread on the strap of the backpack he was lugging around, the one they got from Desmond Inn in exchange for Pegasus and the mangoes.

Draco stopped dead on his tracks and silently thanked his lucky stars that he was walking behind Harry and the latter didn’t see him halt abruptly. Harry would’ve found out there and then how Draco had been lying to him. Gray eyes widened when he realized that Harry was most probably testing him. _Bloody hell! Does he know that I’ve been lying through my teeth? Does he know that I’ve known for some time now how to get out of here and that I’m just keeping him in the dark deliberately? Merlin! Am I that obvious?_ Draco felt beads of sweat slide down the side of his neck. What was he going to tell Harry now? Draco opened his mouth to say something but what came out was a faint gagging sound rather than coherent words.

“I mean, you’d tell me even if it sounds completely stupid, right?” Harry was visibly preoccupied about something. He kept on walking, quite unmindful that Draco had frozen in shock, his mouth opening and closing ridiculously and his hands clenched on his sides.

“Why… why wouldn’t I?” Draco was finally able to make out. Goosebumps had sprouted all over his exposed arms and neck. He sounded guilty. And he dreaded to think that Harry would hear the guilt in his voice, poisoning the words he barely managed to say. “Of course I’d tell you, Harry,” Draco murmured further.

“We’ve been through a lot in this place, haven’t we, Draco?”

“S—sure.”

Guilt started to squeeze Draco’s guts in a vise-like grip. They _have_ been through a lot that they might even pass as friends now, after everything. _But what am I doing? I’m lying to Harry. I’m denying him the right to get out of this hellhole and live the rest of his life with the people who mean the world to him. I’m being selfish. I’m being a typical Slytherin, a typical Malfoy._

“If we end up here forever with just each other for company, do you think we’d go back to hating each other? You know… familiarity breeds contempt and all that tosh,” Harry said, turning around to award Draco an inscrutable stare. His eyes, Draco noticed, lacked the usual Harry Potter fire. But Draco noticed as well that Harry was fighting to rein in his inner turmoil. His face was more pokerfaced than distressed. This lack of… anything… scared Draco more than seeing Harry roaring with rage.

The sun had started to beat down on the two of them harsher than Draco could remember, but the blonde was cold. Cold sweat ran down his back, sending shivers up his spine. It was always easier to lie to Harry when Draco could avoid having to look at the former’s arresting green eyes. But now, looking at Harry so… tormented somehow that he was without emotion, without the usual mischievous twinkle or dead-set determination in his green eyes, Draco was almost tempted to tell him everything. “Harry…”

“Hmmm?”

“I—I… nothing,” Draco blurted, averting his eyes with shame. He couldn’t say it. His hands were clenched so tightly, his fingernails dug crescent moon impressions on his palms. “I promise I won’t hate you,” he continued, fighting back the bile rising in his stomach. He was such a spineless coward!

Harry swallowed with difficulty. He remembered what he painfully discovered just hours ago in the inn. He’d been deeply in torment since. His silence was because he was debating with himself whether or not to tell Draco and at the same time rehearsing what he was going to say, how he was going to say it. _“I promise I won’t hate you,”_ Draco had said. But Draco was going to, no matter what choice Harry made.

_You are a Gryffindor, courageous and heroic. You owe Draco the truth. So be brave and tell him what you have to tell him, Harry! Don’t condemn him to this hell. If you value him as a friend, you will tell him!_

“I know how to escape this dream world,” Harry blurted out. Draco froze in the act of digging through their pack for dinner, and wide stormy gray eyes met Harry’s green ones.

They had found the great acacia tree just in the nick of time. Both of them had been more drained than usual and it wasn’t even because of their trek through the desert. The anxious silence took its toll more than either of them expected. They had barely sat down and made themselves comfortable, with Harry occupying himself with laying out their makeshift sleeping bag and Draco figuring out what was going to be the dinner menu, when Harry blurted out his confession.

“What are you talking about? Have you figured out what Mrs. Desmond said?” Draco asked, the stash of beef jerky in his hand forgotten.

“No, she didn’t really say anything that I didn’t know before. It just—sort of—occurred to me. She said the answer is with us all along, and she was right. The answer is in what I’ve been dreaming about before we found ourselves here,” Harry explained, surprisingly calm and resigned.

“Your dreams? You mean those dreams you’ve been having about the Dark Lord?” Draco replaced the package of beef jerky in the backpack and kept his hands inside the pack for fear that Harry might notice that he had started trembling.

“No, I’m not referring to my dreams about Voldemort. I’m talking about my dreams… about you,” Harry barely got the last two words out of his mouth. They were barely above a whisper that Draco found himself leaning forward to catch it.

Draco averted his gaze, his breath hitching in his chest. Harry had had dreams about him! “You have dreams… about me.” Draco meant it to be a question, but it came out more as a statement of confirmation than a question.

Harry nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Yes, the answer lies in my dreams. I realized it in the inn, and I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“So… what did you discover… actually?”

The Gryffindor dug in the front pocket of his jeans, yanked out a small object and threw it towards Draco. The blonde’s Seeker reflexes kicked in and he caught the object in his left hand, effortlessly. He unclenched his hand to stare at what he was holding. Draco’s gray eyes widened. Harry couldn’t discern anymore the emotions that flashed through the clear gray eyes upon seeing the tube of lubricant. “I didn’t know any other way to break it to you, Draco. I even considered not telling you at all, but…” The explanation died in Harry’s throat.

Draco closed his hand over the tube, as if to dispel having seen it at all. His eyes were downcast. He didn’t want Harry to see the flash of knowledge and the pain of guilt there. Draco sighed through the nose, unsure of how to react. Harry must have been through such pain, internally debating with himself whether or not to tell Draco. And Draco didn’t even know what reaction Harry had already prepared himself for. _So the secret is finally out…_ He had had to deal with the weight of his guilt and the torture of his cowardice—all for nothing!

Harry noticed the lack of cussing and general shock and finger-pointing and blame-throwing, and his eyes narrowed. “But you already know it, don’t you, Draco?”

Draco finally raised his eyes and Harry found the pain there, the guilt, the regret. And the heaviness made Draco’s eyes so much more mature.

“Since when?” Harry was unusually calm, that it shocked even himself. Here was Draco, openly deceiving him, keeping a secret of life and death import from him that concerned just about the rest of his life and his freedom, but Harry was taking the betrayal very lightly. Inscrutable green eyes burrowed deep into stormy and troubled gray ones for the truth cunningly buried there. Harry’s hands were clenched because they were shaking. He was livid, but also strangely resigned to the consequences of Draco’s choice.

“Since the second time in the summit. I had a dream then, and…,” Draco trailed off, not knowing how to justify his deception. He knew there was no excuse. There was no justification. He kept the truth from Harry to save his hide, to avoid having to explain the dreams and to deny to himself and to Harry just how deep his feelings for the Gryffindor went. “I didn’t… I was afraid… I…” Draco knew his haughtiness and Malfoy sarcasm couldn’t save him now.

“You knew since then and you never told me? You were never going to tell me, were you? You were just going to keep staring into my face, knowing full well how to escape this nightmare, and you were never going to tell me,” Harry’s words, though calm, was laden with hurt.

Draco swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. “That would be enlightening: ‘Hey Harry! Look mate, all this torture, one death-defying experience after the other, is based on these dreams I’ve been having for Merlin-knows-how-long about you and the only way to escape this hellhole is if _we fuck!_ So what do you say we get it down and dirty?’ And what would you have said? ‘Sure Draco! I’ve just been waiting for an invitation, actually!’ I didn’t know how to tell you, OK! I didn’t want you to know… how I felt. I’m not you, Harry. I’m not brave enough to look you in the eye and tell you what I myself don’t have the strength to face. And I thought I can keep lying to you, too. It didn’t matter how much I was beginning to hate myself.” He didn’t know anymore where he could’ve gotten the courage, but he threw caution to the wind and came out with it. If Harry was going to hate him for it, there was no better time to hate him than now… Now when every card was already on the table… Now when there was already no turning back.

It was Harry’s turn to become slack-jawed with surprise. “You’ve been having dreams about me?”

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuck!!!_ “Yeah,” he admitted. As was already established. The point of no return. They might as well wake up now and Draco would just have to pray that they wouldn’t remember a goddamned thing.

“And in these dreams, do we….” Harry trailed off, pursing his lips, unsure of how to ask without showing how deadly curious he was. He was awkwardly hitting his fist against his thigh.

Draco had begun playing with the flap of the backpack. _Merlin, he can’t even say it out loud!_ “ _Fuck_? Yeah, yeah, we do.”

If there was a more awkward moment between two people than that under the great acacia tree, Draco was a baboon. With a bright red butt.

“You wanted to get rid of these dreams, didn’t you? These dreams were the reason why you bought the Banisher,” Harry spoke, his words still calm, but the way he was wringing his hands together betrayed the storm raging inside. “Why do you… dream about… that?”

Draco closed his eyes and started breathing through the nose. Wow. Draco had suspected Harry to be dense, but he didn’t expect Harry to be more clueless than Crabbe or Goyle! “If you still don’t know, I as sure as hell won’t be spelling it out for you.” Tucking his legs and crossing his arms in front of him, Draco scrunched his lips and stole glances at Harry.

Harry met his eyes and Draco could see the resolve in the green depths. “Draco—”

“The answer is _No_ , Potter,” Draco scathingly spat out, throwing the offending tube of lubricant back to the raven-haired boy “We’re not fucking. You’re going to stay the hell away from me. You’re not going to lay a finger on me. I should even forbid you to look at me!”

Wind blew over the acacia hill, and the sound drowned out Draco’s grunts of disagreement and Harry’s deep breaths to calm himself. “So you’d rather stay here knowing that I sort of know what you don’t want me know?” Harry absent-mindedly started to cap and uncap the container of lubricant in his hand.

 _OK, that’s a pretty valid point._ It wasn’t only the awkwardness of having Harry know that Draco thought of him _that way_ , enough to dream about fucking him, but also having Harry just an arm’s length away, feeling his warmth and seeing his smile and yet never really having him. On the other hand, Draco knew what giving in was going to do to him. He would never be the same again. Harry could break him into a thousand tiny pieces. While for Harry, it was just another casual fuck, a way to escape this nightmare, for Draco it wasn’t just that; it was way more than that. Letting Harry in meant quitting his resolve to regain control of his mind, of his dreams, of his subconscious. If anything, he’d be _losing_ his mind, his dreams, his subconscious… and his heart.

_But face it, Draco. You know there’s no other way you would be able to have Harry. You’ve been having the dreams and they went on and on because Harry was a desire you sought to quench, a desire you thought was never going to be granted. But here it is! You have a chance now! What are you going to do with it? So what if it’s just sex? Beggars can’t be choosers!_

Draco shook his head to clear the errant thoughts. He was going to regret it, he was sure of it. Either way, there was going to be pain. And he’d be the one feeling it. “If you hurt me, I swear to Merlin, I will kill you. With my bare hands if need be.”

Harry’s green eyes widened when he finally processed what Draco said. “You mean, you’re…”

“We don’t belong here. If this is the only way…then we’ll just have to grit our teeth and do it. Things are bound to change between us if we do resolve to go through with this. Not to mention, if you hurt me, Potter, I will castrate you,” Draco threatened. Swallowing the fear that had lodged permanently in his throat, he stood up as slowly and casually as he could given that his knees were swaying under him, went to where Harry was seated on the mat with his back against the acacia trunk.

Draco knelt in front of Harry and dared to meet his eyes. There was apprehension there. And fear. Lots of fear. Or maybe it was because Harry’s eyes were reflecting Draco’s own and goodness-knows how much fear was swimming in them?

“I don’t want to hurt you, Draco. But I don’t really know…how to do this,” Harry admitted.

Draco licked his lips and fought the urge to recoil, not because of disgust but because of terror. “That makes two of us. But right now I’m just going to think of what I’ve left behind and how much I want to get back to it. Just… just try to be gentle, OK? It’s kind of my first time.” Of course it was a lie, he wasn’t thinking about the real world at all, much less the superficial friends and possessions he had left behind. He’d never been more aware of his surroundings and his body than he was now. The whistles of the wind were drowned out by the frenetic beating of his heart. He was painfully aware of the electric current running through the surface of his skin, the rush of blood underneath the skin, both the dread and the thrill of finally being able to live out his dreams.

Harry raised a hand and ghosted it over Draco’s cheek, all the time never leaving the Slytherin boy’s daring gaze. Skin didn’t meet skin but Harry could’ve sworn there was a shock of raw power in the near contact. The clawing trepidation in the pit of his stomach was doing its job to drown out the equally intense feeling of craving to touch Draco. How long had he been thinking of this, really? Because he _had_ been thinking it. Before, however, such thoughts were taboo. Such thoughts were better buried in the deepest, darkest pit of his unconscious because what needed attention was how to escape Nightmare Land.

Draco crossed his arms, clutched at the hem of his shirt and yanked it off through his head, all the while never leaving Harry’s unblinking gaze. It was as if the blonde was daring him to follow his lead. Harry, without leaving Draco’s gaze, began unbuttoning his own shirt beginning at the one nearest his collar.

It was a contest, a battle of wills, their last and their greatest. While both of them were scared shitless, neither of them was going to be the first to show it. Both of them had steady and sure hands as Harry discarded his button-up shirt followed by his inner shirt, and Draco took off his flimsier undershirt. Their eyes never left each other’s stare as they took off the rest of their clothes for their own personal reasons: Harry, because he didn’t want to start blushing when they haven’t even begun; and Draco, well, because he can.

The dying light of the setting sun gleamed against their bodies. Draco’s was pale and lean while Harry’s was lightly tanned and more muscular in some places.

A huge part of Harry wished they could’ve dealt with the dying sun first. He’d have wanted it to be pitch black before they decided to do this. It would’ve been more comforting if they could hide their uncertainties and awkwardness in the dark. Harry, as bold as he was, raised his hand to touch Draco’s cheek for real, but the latter finally broke their staring contest to lie on the makeshift sleeping bag on his right side, with his back facing Harry and the trunk of the powerful acacia. Harry breathed a quiet sigh. _So there’s going to be minimal intimacy, then. Looks like we’re just going to do what we have to do. It’s probably for the best._

Harry crawled closer to Draco and knelt behind the latter’s motionless form. He placed a hand on Draco’s hip to steady himself. Breathing a huge sigh full of calm resolve, Harry, with his other hand, uncapped the lubricant tube. He’d heard enough from his housemates to have a general idea what should be done so he wouldn’t hurt Draco. The problem now was to trust himself to be able to do it.

Unknown to Harry, Draco was trembling. He’d had his eyes closed since he positioned himself on his side on the thin blanket. Harry’s touch against his bare hip didn’t do him any favors, but only made goosebumps pop out on his skin, even in places he didn’t know could have goosebumps. He clenched his left hand, resting in front of his stomach, scrunching the flimsy mat where he lay. His right hand was kept against his skin, hugging what little warmth he had. His eyes were so tightly shut that there was a kaleidoscope of dizzying colors behind his eyelids.

The first invasion of his body felt so mortifying and riveting at the same time. Two of Harry’s fingers. Draco’s breaths hitched in his throat. It was uncomfortable. It was so corrupting that when his body began to respond, he felt like he’d been betrayed. How could his body do this to him?

“Am I hurting you?”

Harry _was_ hurting him. But loathe as Draco was to admit it, he was coming alive with Harry’s touch, too. His skin was electrified as Harry’s breaths blew over it, as Harry’s fingers slid up and down it, trailing fire in their wake. “No,” Draco answered. He was such a liar.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Harry murmured. He slid his fingers out of Draco.

When Harry began to ease himself into Draco’s body, the Slytherin felt like he was being torn at the seams, like he was splitting apart from the inside. No amount of physical, mental and emotional preparation could have braced himself for the onslaught, the tidal wave of white-hot pain within. _So this is what it feels like to be possessed by Harry_ … His right hand slapped against the ground beside the blanket and clutched at the blades of sparse grass, pulling them by the roots. He bit his lower lip hard but a guttural moan still found its way through! The blades of grass in his fist were crumbling into nothing as he squeezed with all his might. Draco could feel his fingernails digging crescent grooves into his palm. _Fucking hell!_ But the pain in his shaking fist was nowhere near as intense as that inside him. 

“Oh gods,” Harry whispered against the shell of Draco’s ear. Hot breath blew against the side of Draco’s neck. “Oh my god,” Harry grunted, planting a hand on Draco’s shoulder to give him enough balance as he slid into the blonde boy’s body. Harry didn’t know anymore how he got aroused. He just felt himself responding to the moment. All he knew was that he’d never felt this kind of sensation before. It was as if every inch of his skin, every part of his body was crackling with energy.

Draco groaned as Harry continued to invade his body. It wasn’t really the physical discomfort of being ripped apart from the inside that was causing him the greater agony. It was the warm breath against the side of his neck, the low whimper of pleasure from Harry’s lips, the lustful embrace around his torso, the snug pressure of Harry’s forehead against the back of his head. The uproar in his conscience was telling him he was supposed to feel defiled, tainted, and victimized. Harry was the aggressor and he was using Draco’s weakness to pleasure him, taking advantage of Draco’s feelings to get him to agree to this travesty of sex.

But as they fell into a rhythm, timeless and senseless, of flesh beating against flesh, and Harry touched that part inside him that made his body erupt into waves upon waves of pleasure, Draco knew that he had wanted this and every seemingly wrong sensation that came with it. He was tainted and defiled, yes, but it was only because his body felt the pleasure that his heart didn’t want it to. His heart and his conscience wanted him to stop feeling everything, but his body was a traitor.

As he felt the gratification build in his core, he bit hit lower lip to keep from crying out loud. Why was his body betraying him like this? He just wanted to keep feeling like he was forced to have sex, like he was just forced to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy any of it! He never meant to have dreams of fucking Harry Potter. He never meant to be stuck in a bloody dream with Harry Potter. He was just a victim from start to finish. None of this was his choice. And now his body _dared_ to betray him by being on the brink of coming?!?! Why couldn’t his body just mirror the anguish of his heart?

“Dr—Draco…” Harry’s breaths were coming in ragged gasps now. Draco could only whimper. He was such a loser, demeaning himself like this… by being Harry Potter’s bitch. Whatever the hell happened to seizing control of his life? He meant to forget dreams of Harry fucking Potter! He meant to return to how things used to be, when he used to sleep at night instead of being hounded by dreams that weren’t supposed to come true! But everything was different now. There was no going back. Harry was going to come inside him and he was going to come with Harry’s name upon his lips, and he would never be the same again. His mind could forget, true, as he’d done before with all those dreams. But his body… and his heart… would always remember being possessed by Harry Potter.

Draco let go of the scrunched fabric of the threadbare blanket and reached behind him, for Harry. His right hand unclenched around the beaten blades of grass and seized Harry’s arms which were wrapped around Draco’s chest. They had never been so close to each other that it was unclear where Harry ended and Draco began.

Harry squeezed Draco so hard against his body that the breath was knocked out of the blonde. Draco closed his eyes as orgasm overtook him; Harry’s name was on his lips.

Neither of them dared move a muscle. But they could still feel each other’s warmth, each other’s rasping breaths and post-coital shivers. How were they supposed to know if they were able to make it back to reality?

It was Draco who opened his eyes first. They were still on the acacia hill, surrounded by sparse grass and beyond the circle of grass, fine yellow sand of the desert. The wind was still blowing over them, sending leaves swirling around their sanctuary. It was still sunset with the red dying light bathing the darkening purple sky. Nothing had changed in the scenery but the two boys under the tree.

Draco stood up, abruptly peeling himself off Harry’s arms. He wordlessly grabbed his clothes haphazardly strewn on the ground and shamelessly stalked away without a single stitch of clothing on his back, leaving an immobile Harry on the blanket. The Gryffindor was too shell-shocked to call the other boy back. There was nothing to say.

It didn’t work. They were still in the dream.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Into the home stretch, people! The end is coming, but will it be as you expected?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left their mark on this story! It's not yet too late, folks, so come on and make me feel your love!
> 
> WARNING for dubious consent (if you squint).

Draco hugged his legs closer to his chest as another gust of wind blew over the sand dune. He buried his forehead on the crook between his knees to keep his eyes from getting sand particles in them. There really was no point in keeping sand bits from pricking his eyes. He was already crying anyway.

The sunset was mockingly beautiful in the horizon, making him hate his predicament even more. He should’ve stood his ground and refused to engage in sex with Harry Potter. The most appalling and hilarious bit was it didn’t even fucking work! They were still trapped in their little nightmare in spite of doing what they thought was the only means for them to be able to escape. And now on top of having had sex with Harry Potter to no avail, he, Draco Malfoy, had had sex with Harry Potter and actually had an orgasm and loved it! How was he going to go back to the acacia tree now and face Harry? He had to admit, the after-sex scenario never entered his mind. He never imagined that there’d actually be one! He thought he’d just wake up in his room, barely remembering what he’d been dreaming about and that was that. Draco never really thought that the plan might not work.

 _But I should have thought that it might not work! If there’s anything this dream should’ve taught me, it’s the fact that there were no guarantees! A plan might work, but it could also very well fail! We should’ve talked about it more. We shouldn’t have drawn our own conclusions!_ But Draco knew that no amount of should haves, and could haves would change what had already happened.

 _We didn’t talk about it anymore because both of us were convinced that that was what needed to be done! Haven’t we had enough time between the two of us to think about it? I had time since the second trip to the summit and Harry had all night until the morning after Desmond Inn. Both of us must have been sure it was the right thing to do otherwise we would’ve argued about it. But we didn’t. It was actually one of the few things we agreed on. So it must have been because we were certain it was going to work. So why didn’t it?_ Draco’s head was starting to hurt. If it were up to him, he wanted to bash his brains against the acacia trunk so he wouldn’t have to think at all.

Draco dusted off his jeans absent-mindedly. He was in such a hurry to get the hell away from Harry that he had stormed off butt naked and carrying his clothes in one hand without even a backward glance. He was just so mad at himself and at Harry to carry on a platonic conversation after having had the most magnificent orgasm, screaming Harry Potter’s name to the high heavens. So he had run off. He didn’t pay attention that his body was aching, even those muscles he never knew he had.

A throat was cleared behind him and he dreaded to turn around, knowing what he would find.

“I brought you some dinner,” Harry exclaimed, offering Draco a paper bag from a very safe distance behind the latter.

Draco turned to look at Harry and then at the paper bag being offered to him, and he took the bag cautiously. “Thanks,” he murmured, unwrapping the top to see what was for dinner. Inside were some cheese and a hunk of bread.

Harry made to leave to let Draco get back to his introspection, but before he took a step, he said, “I was wrong. It didn’t work.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed that.” Draco resealed the top of the paper bag. He wasn’t that hungry yet.

“I really thought it was going to,” Harry said, briefly meeting Draco’s inscrutable gray eyes.

“For what it’s worth, I thought it was going to work, too. Why else would I have agreed to do it?”

Harry breathed a heavy sigh through his pursed lips. “I can understand if you’d like to travel alone from here on,” Harry said.

Draco’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Nothing. It’s just—you might be uncomfortable… traveling with me after what… I can understand. Just… let me know so we can do something about the supplies,” Harry said. There was something in his eyes that said differently though.

“Do you really want us to go our separate ways then?” Draco asked.

“No, I don’t. But I’d rather we split up than have you stay with me and just be miserable. Something’s changed between us. I know it. You know it. I don’t want us to separate, but whatever you decide, I’ll respect it,” Harry morosely exclaimed. He turned around to head back to the acacia. It was as if the conversation zapped him of whatever remaining strength he had.

“Do you know why it didn’t work, Harry? Do you know why we’re still here?” It was the question that’s been bugging him since he left Harry sprawled under the cover of the acacia tree. He didn’t know if he even knew the answer, or if he even wanted to hear it if Harry knew it.

“No, I don’t.”

“In a way, what we did doesn’t even come close to what happens in the dreams. See, in the dreams, the two people make love because it’s their truth. It is, for them, an end in itself. But for us… we only did it because we had to. It was only a means to an end. The choice of a lesser evil. Those people in the dream, what they do is real for them. It is _the only thing_ that is real for them. Real in a way that we will never understand. Maybe that’s why we’re still here,” Draco explained, his soft voice buffeted by the wind and his own melancholy. “We will never do it again. Even if we have to stay here for eternity, I don’t care. But we will _never_ , _ever_ do that again,” Draco stated, more to himself than to Harry. Draco didn’t even know if Harry was still standing behind him.

_I don’t think I can take any more of the pain. I’ve let you in deep enough, Harry. Any deeper and you will stay embedded in me. I will never be able to pull you out so I can have myself back. So we must swear never to do it again. Never again._

It was a long time before Draco felt strong and cheerful enough to return to their camp under the acacia tree.

Harry looked up from the thick twig he was whittling when Draco discreetly sat on the makeshift swing hanging from a branch of the acacia tree. “What are you doing?” Draco asked, crossing his ankles and clasping his hands on his lap. There was, thankfully, no hint of bashfulness in Draco’s tone. He seemed to have gathered the resolve to at least try to return to normal while doing major introspection in the sand dunes.

“Trying to carve a miniature Beater’s bat,” Harry said, holding up the twig, which would’ve made a nice three-inch long and one-inch thick bat. “Finished with dinner?”

“Yeah. About that splitting up thing you had going earlier—”

“Hmm, what about it?” Harry really didn’t want to have to split up. He was really quite happy to be around Draco but after what’s happened, he wasn’t sure if Draco could still stomach being with him all the time. He hoped Draco would opt that they stay together, but he nonetheless braced himself for the more distasteful circumstances should Draco choose to decide differently.

“At this point, I don’t think it’s going to work. We’ve done everything together thus far that if we try to part ways now, both of us will probably end up being trapped in one place,” Draco rationalized.

“You’re right, of course,” Harry agreed. He was just too relieved that Draco decided to stay with him after all. He stood up to stay behind Draco, by the swing. He started pushing the swing by yanking the ropes forward and back. He thought it safe not to touch Draco for the time being because he didn’t want the other boy to feel uncomfortable.

When it was his turn to sit on the swing, Draco also pushed, but like Harry earlier, Draco avoided having direct contact. For what felt like the millionth time that night, Harry berated himself for how he and Draco ended up where they were. Maybe Draco had it right after all, not telling Harry about how to escape even though he had already known for some time. Maybe he had foreseen that something like this was going to happen. Just when they thought they’ve graduated from this kind of association, here they were again.

 _We became friends in this dream when we thought that was nearly impossible! We overcame that hurdle. So this is just one of those challenges to our character in this place. We can overcome this, easy!_ But no matter how many times Harry kept telling himself that, it became harder and harder to convince himself.

When night finally fell, Harry settled on the side of the acacia overlooking the horizon where the sun took forever to set while Draco made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the massive trunk. It was as cold as the night they were first there, but unlike then, they decided not to stay together

Harry hated to admit it, but their prospects of ever getting out of that place were very grim. His spirits felt even more battered by the fact that their friendship, delicate as it was, was spiraling to oblivion. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was even partly to blame.

Tossing and turning all night, it was only when he began to think about the crackling energy between their bodies and the sweet scent of sunset on Draco’s skin that he succumbed to a restless slumber.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Harry knew they definitely had a problem when Draco refused to even look at him.

It started when he was rudely awakened by the sound of a glass bottle crashing on the pebble-strewn ground. Harry knew that Draco had been awake for some time already because the blonde was already dressed in one of their spare clothes and their supplies bag had already been packed. The Gryffindor hurriedly engraved on the acacia trunk to usher in the morning while Draco was giving him surreptitious glances. When they were already on their way, Harry had wanted to ask why Draco didn’t wake him up if the latter had already wanted to leave. But Harry thought better of it and decided to just let it pass. Draco looked uneasy enough as it was whenever Harry asked him what he did while waiting for Harry to wake up.

The black-haired boy was left pretty much to his own thoughts as they trekked through the wastelands. But by the time that the heat became unbearable, he was half-wishing for some respite from his not so pleasant thoughts. He kept on thinking about Draco’s lips, how full they were, how chapped they looked because of the midday wind, how they were set in a tight and determined line, how pink Draco’s tongue was rubbing against his dry lips. In short, he was half out of his mind thinking about Draco, his lips in particular, and at the same time trying his best not to think about Draco.

He couldn’t even begin to fathom where the curiosity was coming from because he had never kissed Draco, not even while they were having sex. But now he just couldn’t stop thinking about it! _I would have loved to kiss Draco last night. I mean, we were in the moment and it was the most natural thing to do actually._ So why didn’t he? Harry didn’t know.

Of course, the sudden obsession was not exactly helping Harry try to avoid making Draco uncomfortable. Twice Draco had caught Harry staring at him while he was licking his lips. It was indecent! And when Harry wasn’t thinking about Draco’s lips, he was thinking about the feel of Draco’s sweat-slicked back against his chest as they made love under the tree or Draco’s warmth around his…

“Do I have something on my face, Harry?” Draco asked, a bit curtly.

“Huh? What?”

“I asked you if I have something on my face,” Draco said, averting his eyes to look at the backpack on Harry’s back than on his face.

“No, no—why?” Harry made a show of shifting the backpack’s weight behind him and tugging the straps on his sides.

“So why do you keep staring at me then?” Draco pursed his lips and quickened his steps.

Harry hurried to keep up. “I wasn’t staring. I was just trying to guess what you were thinking. You’ve been really quiet since we left the acacia tree. I guess I’m just kind of missing your usual whining.”

Draco opted not to answer.

They’ve been having more of that of late. Harry would try to bait Draco, but the latter would just retreat into himself, shutting Harry out without so much as a response. And Harry wouldn’t give it another try until much later. He just thought that after last night, he should just cut Draco some slack. If this was his way of dealing with things, Harry should just let him be. But Harry wasn’t exactly jumping for joy that he was, effectively, condemning himself to spend his foreseeable future in a psychotic dream world with a paranoid sociopath.

For his part, Draco just about refused to look at Harry because try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about what they were busy with last night.

It didn’t help at all for Draco’s situation that upon waking up, he found Harry sprawled on the ground with his shirt hitched up his body and he was moaning, whimpering, panting and gasping like he was having the most vivid erotic dream. He must have spent a solid half-hour ogling at Harry’s prostrate figure, debating with himself whether to wake the other boy up and put both of them out of their misery. He finally decided to do his good deed of the day by dropping a half-empty glass bottle on the ground to snap Harry out of his nighttime musings.

He should really, really stop thinking about Harry Potter, how gentle he was with Draco last night, how absolutely arousing he was as he breathed down Draco’s neck, how much he set Draco’s skin on fire with his every touch. He knew this was going to happen. Harry now had power over him.

Maybe he should contemplate about drowning himself in the rapids when they got there. The idea was so much more appealing now that his situation with Harry couldn’t get any worse. He was just thankful that Harry wasn’t badgering him about the dreams that he let slip the night before. That would be the proverbial last straw. Draco just couldn’t imagine having to tell Harry his real feelings.

Draco maintained his distance from Harry. The blonde was inwardly distressed about the current conflict with his companion. It was easy to see how much Harry was beating himself up because of the failed attempt to escape the dream. Draco felt a tad guilty about putting Harry through the wringer for an honest mistake. _It is better this way. The closer we are to each other, the more we are in the position to harm the other without us meaning to. We should have just remained at each other’s throats, and then maybe we’d have saved each other from the hurt that came with losing someone we never intended to find anyway._

Harry watched Draco’s back as they kept on walking. The Slytherin seemed determined not to bridge the gap this time. And Harry understood perfectly where Draco was coming from. It was causing Harry such pain to have to watch Draco withdraw into himself because he thought Harry was too insensitive to notice anything. But Harry could see—he could feel how much pain it was causing Draco to endure Harry’s very presence.

“You know this is what I was afraid of that’s why I even suggested we split up. I know you think I am to blame for what happened. So why don’t you just say it? Say it to my face, Draco. I can handle hearing it. When you said things are going to change between us after what happened last night, I didn’t understand that what you really meant to say was we’re supposed to go on pretending like nothing happened!” Harry didn’t know what made him say it. He was tired; he was footsore; he was worried that they were never going to get out of there; he’s just had the best night of his life and Draco was just going through the motions like Harry didn’t exist at all.

Draco stopped walking, but he kept his back to Harry. “What is there to talk about, Harry? _We fucked._ We fucked, thinking it was a way to escape this hellhole. We were _wrong_ because we’re still here. And if _fucking_ was even really a way to get out of here, then we’re never getting out because _we’re not doing that again_! Now, what else is there to talk about?” Draco was shaking with anger! What more did Harry want from him? When he had already taken everything?

Harry stomped towards Draco’s unmoving figure and grabbed Draco’s lower arm before the latter could take a step. When Draco resisted Harry’s grasp, the latter loosened his hold but didn’t let go. Draco was going to hear him out. “Look, Draco, I _am_ sorry about last night. If you think I forced you, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t have a choice. I _am_ sorry it didn’t work. I really believed it would. But you know what? I’m not sorry it happened. I’m glad it did. Because whatever that was I felt last night, I adored it. I’m happy I felt it,” Harry admitted. He released Draco arm, lightly and sighed. That was all he really had to say. He was sorry that Draco was obviously in pain over the monumental mistake that happened last night, but he didn’t mean to be the heartless, selfish prick that Draco most probably thought he was. It was a difficult choice to make, a choice that if Harry could’ve taken back, he would. If only they had succeeded, then Draco would have been back in the real world where he’d finally be able to move on, forget about his dysfunctional nightmares by seeing shamans or drinking potions or modifying his memory.

But they failed. They did that which Draco had promised himself to consign to the darkest pits of his unconscious, rendering the Slytherin completely vulnerable because now, Harry knew what he felt. There was no denying it anymore—to himself or to Harry. But damned if Harry knew what _he_ was supposed to feel for Draco. There was pity—there was always pity—and yet there was also real, breath-constricting bewilderment. It couldn’t be denied that Harry felt strongly for Draco. But as Gryffindors were more on chivalry and meager on erudition, Harry really didn’t know what it was he was feeling. Both of them were going to have to live with that knowledge—or in Harry’s case the lack of knowledge—as they walked through a world designed to remind them of the grotesque fantasies that brought them there in the first place, with each other for company, for the next few decades or so of their sorry lives.

“I know I’m not making things easier for you. My mere presence is causing you intense torment. Believe me, Draco, if there was anything I could do to make it go away, I would have done it,” Harry said, his head bowed, his eyes curtained with fringes of his messy black hair. The blonde boy in front of him kept still and silent. “But we’re still in this together. Nothing about last night changed that,” Harry added.

The Slytherin noticeably relaxed his previously balled-up fists on his sides. “It’s not your fault, Harry. I don’t blame you,” Draco whispered before picking his feet up again to continue their journey.

Harry knew that that was as good as it was going to get.

It actually got a bit better after the minor confrontation. Harry muttered something about wanting to break into a raucous rendition of the Hogwarts Hymn, and Draco smirked in response. Draco may have faked it for Harry’s benefit, but the latter really couldn’t care less. It was invigorating to see Draco react again.

The small tent was right where it was like last time they were there. It still looked woebegone, cramped and unsafe, but it was their only shelter from the elements. Harry was relieved to find it although it was not without a bit of dread that he and Draco would have to spend an entire night together in a confined place. The Gryffindor still had not dealt with being fixated with wanting to kiss his traveling companion, and the urge was getting harder and harder to fight. Harry’s protective tendencies were going haywire because of Draco’s vulnerability at the moment.

Harry held the tent flap open and waved for Draco to crawl in first with the pack of supplies. The inside of the tent was offensively tinier than last time, if that was even possible. Harry, upon entering the tent, twisted his body to take up as little space as he could right across Draco, who had begun rummaging into their pack for some dinner.

“We have dried fish and rice cakes,” Draco announced, passing out parcels of their dinner. Harry accepted with a tight-lipped smile. They ate in companionable silence. There was still a bit of that afternoon’s tension, but unlike earlier, Draco was no longer deliberately avoiding Harry’s gaze.

After dinner, Harry re-arranged the contents of the backpack. He sorted the paper parcels that still contained food and disposed of the empty packages. He took out the haphazardly folded blanket they’ve been using as a makeshift sleeping bag to get ready for bed. Touching the threadbare fabric brought about unwanted memories of what the blanket had been good for the night before, and Harry blushed furiously. _Shit!_ He wished Draco didn’t choose that moment to look at him. It would be tough to explain why he was bright red in the face while lovingly caressing their tattered blanket.

“It seems like it’s a nice night out. Maybe I’ll sleep outside tonight,” Draco uttered, intruding into Harry’s thoughts that were slowly and seriously degenerating to lechery. The Slytherin began rolling up the equally woebegone matting of the tent. “You can use that,” Draco said, nodding towards the blanket in Harry’s hands. Draco snuck outside quickly before Harry could even notice that the Slytherin had been blushing too.

The stars were sprinkled generously on the night sky in varying degrees of brightness. Harry was breathless when he first noticed the sky upon following Draco outside. He also noticed the bitter cold air smothering him almost as quickly.

Harry found Draco hunched into a bizarre position, hugging his legs close to his body with his head stuffed in the gap between his knees. The flimsy blanket that came with the tent was spread over his head and around his legs, but he was still shivering. Judging by how Draco was trembling, Harry guessed that the blonde would probably be a full-blown popsicle before the night was out.

“It’s too cold out here. You’ll freeze to death,” Harry observed. He only just got there and his teeth were already chattering because of the cold.

Draco groaned something unintelligible, but didn’t make to stand up to kip in the tent. He just huddled deeper in the ragged blanket.

“Quit being a pighead and just sleep in the tent,” Harry said, much forcefully this time. “Don’t make me say it again.”

 _Goddamn, he’s bossy!_ Draco gathered his blanket and half-ran, half-crawled back to the tent.

Harry was shaking his head, reproachfully at Draco as he plopped down on the blanket laid out on the ground. Draco was still buried in his blanket, trembling slightly. “You are so stubborn. You just always want to be right all the time, don’t you? Sometimes I think, you’re even more pigheaded than me,” Harry joked, a soft smile lingering on his lips.

Only Draco’s chattering teeth could be heard above the deafening silence that followed. Harry turned his back to Draco, tucked his right arm under his head and closed his eyes. The other boy’s warmth against Harry’s back sent tingles up his spine. There was something about Draco’s proximity that was making a circus out of his emotions. Harry wanted to reach out and touch Draco, to feel the warmth return to the blonde boy’s cheeks. It was as if last night wasn’t enough for Harry. It was as if last night was only the beginning.

“Strictly no statements, only questions,” Draco began. Harry opened his eyes and murmured in answer. A part of Harry cringed when he heard Draco initiate the game that in Harry’s mind had become theirs—their special game, the game that is uniquely theirs. It could only mean that Draco wanted to tell him something—something he couldn’t say straight—and, at the same time, he wanted the truth from Harry.

“What are your regrets, Harry?” Draco didn’t know what compelled him to start playing the game. All of a sudden, Draco wanted to know. They have spent a great deal of time together in this place. They had braved many perils and lived through many realizations about themselves… and about each other, and yet they never really talked about something as pervasive as regrets in the lives they’ve led so far.

“Do I have to have any?”

“Isn’t it perfectly normal to have some?”

“Are you expecting me to say that last night is one of them?”

“What if I am?”

Harry turned to lie on his back, clasping his hands on his abdomen. “Is it one of yours?”

“Do you think I’d be telling you the truth if I say ‘No’?” Draco sat up and started toying with the frayed edges of his blanket. A different kind of cold was beginning to envelop him now.

“What _was_ last night about to you, Draco?” Harry folded his arms across his chest and twisted to keep Draco’s silhouette in his line of sight.

“Do you think I’d be freaking out so much if I didn’t think it was a big deal?” Draco spun around to stare into Harry’s eyes through the murky darkness. He narrowed his eyes as if to dare the Gryffindor to contradict him.

Harry grinned and sat up as well. He refolded his arms across his chest. “So why _did_ you freak? Why did you shut me out like you did?” Without hesitation and bashfulness, Harry eyes bore into Draco’s stormy gray ones, challenging the latter to say something. Harry couldn’t even begin to explain how much he wanted to hear Draco say the words that were just swimming around all over them. Draco’s eyes were still trying to contain the words because there was fear. There was also indecision, pride and defiance. Here, it would be easy to throw the words around because there was no one else. They only have themselves to battle, and once they gave in, no one was going to criticize them for being slaves of their emotions. So, saying the words was going to mean acceptance of their fate to be prisoners of their dreams. But they didn’t belong here. They have lives, families, friends and futures waiting for them in the real world—a real world where they were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Oil and Water. Hero of the Wizarding World and Former Death Eater. Gryffindor and Slytherin. In that world, the words hanging around, unspoken, have no meaning. So why say them at all if they didn’t mean a rat’s ass in the world they were meant to return to? They were only making things hard for themselves. They should just focus on finding _other ways_ to return to where they belonged instead of surrendering to their passion.

Harry knew, though, that it was going to get harder and harder to deny their truths the longer they remained there. And if Draco was beating himself up now, Harry could only imagine how much more painful their predicament was going to become for Draco. _If we do find another way to escape, but not before we do something monumentally stupid like doing it again, we’d probably find it harder to move on. Sure, we can always conveniently forget about what we feel, but one way or another, they will manifest. And we will suffer._

Without waiting for an answer from Draco for the previous question, Harry asked again. “Am I hurting you, Draco?”

The Slytherin bit his lower lip. The other boy’s gray eyes pulsed and shone with unwelcome tears. _Every damn second, Harry. Every damn second._ He was burning inside because he knew they couldn’t stay there. He kept falling into a pit that became steadily deeper every time he found something new to love about Harry; and the deeper he fell, the real world just became less real—he couldn’t remember who he was supposed to be anymore. But he was also afraid to go. He liked who he was with Harry, so much so that returning to who he once was scared him. Would he even remember how he got to know Harry Potter in this dream?

“Will you believe me if I say that you’re not?”

Harry understood it now. To put Draco out of his misery, Harry must deal the most severe blow. They had to get out of here. They both had to go now. Harry just wished he was doing the right thing and that in the long run, Draco would understand. “Will you forgive me?”

“For what?” Draco averted his eyes from Harry and tried to blink the moisture out of his eyes.

“For this,” Harry whispered, and in one swift move, seized Draco by his head in a vise-like grip and covering his mouth in a kiss.

Draco struggled. He pushed and clawed at Harry’s face and chest. He tugged furiously on Harry’s clothes, but the latter’s lips were firm and forceful against his.

With one hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, Harry twisted Draco’s more violent right hand against the latter’s back. This maneuver disoriented Draco and he fell backwards, crashing against the canvas wall of the tent. Before Draco could realize the use of his legs to deal more serious injuries, Harry straddled Draco.

Harry broke the kiss and pressed the side of his face against Draco’s cheek. The Gryffindor’s breathing was rough but his lips were fiery against Draco’s earlobe. “Get… the fuck… off me, Potter. Now,” Draco struggled.

Harry placed Draco’s right hand above his crown of disheveled blonde hair. Freeing Draco’s neck, Harry caught Draco’s still flailing left hand and placed it likewise above the blonde head. Harry bore his eyes into Draco’s furious gray ones as they faced each other, with Harry on top and Draco squirming beneath. “Get off me!”

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Take your pick,” Harry said, ghosting his lips over Draco’s.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s the idea,” Harry breathlessly exclaimed, capturing Draco’s lips in another lip-cutting kiss. Harry’s wand hand gripped both of Draco’s, keeping them above his head. The left hand, without preamble started tearing Draco’s shirt off.

“We can’t do this again, Harry. Please. Let me go,” Draco pleaded; his eyes were shining with a combination of fear and supplication. With a hint of desire and anticipation.

“You have to trust me. I—” Harry’s voice broke. “Please.” Harry did away with talking then. When Draco’s shirt had been rendered to shreds, Harry began nipping at the crook connecting Draco’s jaw with his neck. He traced light, feathery kisses on the earlobes, the jaw line, the chin, the throat, the dip in the collarbone, but he would always return to Draco’s lips. Soon enough they were kissing as if they had been doing it for hours, that Harry’s hold on Draco’s wrists were forgotten.

When Draco realized that Harry had let go of his hands, the Slytherin began tearing at Harry’s clothes with the urgency of a witch with a hot date looking for blood red lingerie in a once-every-fifteen-years midnight sale. Once both of them had discarded their clothing, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco as a drowning man would a lifebuoy and with his lips traced a path from Draco’s throat, through his collar to his shoulder. Their bodies pressed against each other; their hands and fingers slid up and down, engulfing their cold skin in searing caresses; their legs were in a tangle with the rumpled blankets around them.

Winds howled outside but only their ragged breathing and disbelieving whimpers filled their little tent. Draco moaned as Harry’s fingers slithered up his spine. There was nothing else to do but bite his lower lip and close his eyes to keep him from crying out loud. What he swore to himself he’d never allow again was unfolding before him and all he could do was groan throatily. Where was his self-respect? Where were his principles of self-preservation?

“Kiss me,” Harry murmured against the shell of Draco’s ear. With the ferocity he never knew he had, Draco covered Harry’s swollen lips with his own again. He had never kissed anyone like this before. There was passion; there was need—like he was going to die if he stopped kissing Harry. The blonde moaned gutturally into the kiss when Harry’s warm hand pressed against his groin.

“Fuck.” Draco was no longer coherent. He pressed his body against Harry’s. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to touch Harry everywhere, be touched by Harry, and owned by Harry. He didn’t care anymore what was going to happen tomorrow when they wake up, realizing what they’d done. All he wanted was to surrender to what he was feeling now. Fuck the consequences!

Harry squeezed himself under Draco’s legs so that the latter was straddling him. Harry wrenched their discarded clothes from the floor and with one hand, rummaged through the folds and pockets for the tube of lubricant.

Forceful fingernails dug crescent grooves on Harry’s back as Draco resisted the slick fingers sliding into his body. “Shit! Merlin…” Harry sucked on the exposed skin above Draco’s sternum as a distraction. The pain was not as intense as the first time, and Draco was thankfully distracted by other things—like Harry’s other hand enveloping his hardness, Harry’s lips branding his neck and chest unapologetically.

“I’ll take it slow. Tell me if it hurts, OK?”

Draco slowly lowered himself onto Harry’s lap, with the latter guiding him to go slowly. It still hurt like a bitch as Draco took Harry into him little by little. Draco’s senses went into overdrive. He could hear Harry’s breath hitching; he could hear whimpers bubbling in Harry’s throat; he could feel Harry’s warm breath on the nape of his neck; he could see Harry trembling. “I’m OK. I’m OK,” Draco reassured, his voice low and soft.

The first time that Harry pulled then slid back in, Draco cried out. The yell was out of his lips before he was even aware. Like last time, his body responded to everything that Harry did. But unlike last time, this was no longer _just sex_. Draco could feel it with every thrust, every touch, every husky moan. Harry’s embrace around his body conveyed the words they weren’t saying. Draco could feel the frenzied throb of the pulse on Harry’s temple against his cheek, the trembling touch of Harry’s hand against his shoulder blade. For a second, he dared to look at Harry’s face and saw through the very feeble light that it was moist with sweat and tears. Harry had been crying! It was then that he realized that he was, too.

For how long had he dreamed of this moment? For how long had he imagined being touched by Harry this way? He had already consigned it to the deepest recesses of his heart, convinced that it would never be more than just dreams.

_If I wake up now, I hope I remember. That at least for one night, Harry and I were real…_

Harry swept the curtain of blonde hair over Draco’s forehead to be able to look into his eyes. Calloused fingertips traced the side of Draco’s face, the line of his jaw, the tip of his chin. Harry pulled Draco’s face close and they kissed again. It was simple, without lust and urgency. The Slytherin knew it was _the_ kiss he would never, ever forget. It was the kiss that would fuel his thoughts during pensive moments, the kiss that would remind him that once, he liked who he was—he was Harry’s.      

The thrusts became more frantic then. Harry’s hold on the blonde became impassioned. Draco could feel his release building up in his very center. The way they were both gulping down air would have shamed a triathlon athlete. If he suddenly woke up now, at that very moment, he’d be fucking pissed, alright! _Holy Merlin!_

And Draco felt it, the explosion inside him and he cried out before he could stop himself. If anyone had been around within a half-mile radius, they definitely would have heard him.

Harry came with a horrific shout, not a moment later, holding Draco tightly. And so softly, that Draco almost missed it, Harry murmured against the shell of Draco’s ear.

“I love you, Draco. I love you.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone's who's left Kudos and comments on this baby! Much appreciated y'all!!! 
> 
> It's not too late to leave your mark here. The Epilogue is still coming. So how do you think this ends then? Happy or not happy? I have always assumed the position that a good ending is not necessarily one that's also a happy ending, but I'd love to hear your speculations/opinions/violent reactions. :-)
> 
> How would you guys like to see another NINETEEN YEARS LATER-type of epilogue? Let me tell you, that one threw me for a loop! :-)
> 
> For those of you who are also quite interested to read a Steve Rogers/Tony Stark fanfiction (of the Marvel Cinematic Universe/Avengers persuasion), look for the story entitled WWW.STEM.ORG and let me know what you think about that one, too!!!
> 
> Here we go...

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he sat up so abruptly, he nearly got a crick in the neck. _Where the fucking hell am I?_ He looked around the room of dark mahogany four-poster beds draped in green and gray-silver, white silk sheets, dark gray stone walls and teardrop-shaped bronze lamps on the walls. It was hard to tell if it was morning or nighttime because there were no windows. The room was empty at the moment and the beds unmade. Draco’s own bed was messy with silk sheets tangled around his legs. Gnarled bits of broken glass, red stones and a crooked orange stick were strewn on the floor beside his bed. His bedside table was bare and pristine as always except for a library book that was taken out for Transfiguration class.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuck!_ He was in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory room. He didn’t know what could have happened because the last thing he remembered was… _Harry. We were in the tent and we were—_

 _Fucking hell!_ How he got to the Slytherin dorm, he didn’t know. Something must have happened to transport him there. Harry was nowhere to be seen; the room was empty apart from him. For the first time since he figured out where he was, Draco noticed that he was wearing black silk pajamas that were sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. He couldn’t remember having silk pajamas in the supplies bag they got from the inn. There were coarse cotton shirts and tattered denim trousers. There were even their washed but threadbare black robes that had seen better days. But no pajamas.

Draco looked up as the heavy wooden door opened and his fellow Slytherin, Blaise Zabini entered, carrying a fluffy green towel and his usual pack of toiletries. The newcomer’s hair looked wet as if he’d just had a bath. “Oh you’re up. I was going to wake you for some breakfast. You should hurry, though, or we’re going to miss it,” Blaise said, glancing at a black wristwatch.

“What time is it?” Draco remembered seeing a watch on Harry, but they had never consulted it. Apparently it had died. But here was Blaise with a fully functioning watch, so it seemed.

Blaise consulted the wristwatch again. “Eight-fifteen in the morning. Bathroom’s empty. You only have fifteen minutes or you’re going to have to sneak in the kitchens if you want some breakfast.”

The blonde watched closely as Blaise made for the bed near the door, flipped the cover of the trunk at the foot of the bed open and haphazardly dumped his stuff on top. “What day is it?” Draco blurted out. Blaise looked at him quizzically without giving a reply. “Blaise! Answer the question!”

“It’s Saturday. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Yesterday was Friday. What?! Did you forget to do homework or something?”

“When was the last time you saw me?” Blaise was beginning to look at Draco as if he was a sack of dung left rudely on an otherwise immaculate porch.

“Er—last night, before we went to bed. Unless that wasn’t you but someone just pretending to be you,” Blaise joked. “Are you on drugs, Draco? You can tell me the truth, you know.”

_Ha fucking ha!_

There was no other explanation. He had woken up. He was back in the real world. Then that must mean that Harry was awake, too! _Unless I woke up and accidentally left Harry back in Dreamland…_ And contrary to what time in Dreamland was like, it had only been one night in the real world!

“No Blaise, I’m not stoned. I just had the weirdest dream last night. Did you notice if I even left the bed in the middle of the night?” Draco practically jumped off his bed and folded his sheets, leaving it still in a state of absolute chaos.

“I don’t think so. You were asleep even when Vince kind of fell off the bed. You were out like a light,” Blaise replied.

After grabbing a towel that was folded neatly on the cover of his trunk, Draco whizzed past Blaise and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was, as Blaise had said, blissfully empty. When the first jet of warm water touched his skin, it occurred to Draco that he could remember everything that had happened in the dream. He had climbed a bloody coconut tree; he had taken a dip in an unsanitary stream in his underwear; he had ridden a horse bareback; he had washed his grimy clothes in a creek; he had been bitten by a snake!

And true enough, the healing puncture marks of snake fangs were visible on his lower leg when he bent down to see for himself. He definitely didn’t have that the last time he took a bath in this bathroom. And judging by how it looked, the wound was only about a couple of days old. _Bloody hell!_

He had nearly been walloped by a tree trunk in the rapids; he had kissed Harry Potter; and Merlin—they certainly didn’t stop with just kissing. Draco remembered the last thing they were doing before he woke up with a start in the Slytherin boys’ dorm. Everything they did, every conversation, every joke was clear in Draco’s mind as if they were scenes viewed over and over again through an omniocular.

But as jets of steaming hot water cascaded down his body, washing away remnants of light-hearted joy of having remembered everything, Draco began to feel the heaviness. He could remember everything… when it could’ve served him better if he’d just forgotten. The blonde stooped against the onslaught of the pouring water and placed his palms flat against the wall in front of him. Why did he have to remember? Hadn’t he bought the Banisher to free himself from fantasies of Harry Potter in the first place? But now instead of just fantasies, he actually has real and _very vivid_ memories of Harry’s lips on his, Harry’s fingers tracing up his spine, Harry’s shameless cries of pleasure while they were having sex—not only once, but two fucking times!

His dreams before were like water in his cupped palm—the details trickled dry as time elapsed until he could barely remember what it was he had dreamed about. But as the minutes ticked by, the recollections this time around were actually becoming stronger and more detailed. He wished the water would just wash the memories away, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

_No! You will not go through this again, Draco! You promised yourself you would get rid of Harry Potter in your system, and by the gods, you will—even if you have to fight tooth and nail for it to happen! You will forget about this nonsense; you will move on and not look back. It was just like any old dream you had. It’s morning now; it’s gone…_

He was in the real world now. Dreams have no place in the real world.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Harry didn’t know whether to pump his fists with joy when he found himself sprawled beside his unmade bed that morning. Apparently, he had woken up when he fell off the bed with a numbing thud. At first, he didn’t recognize where he was until he was able to drink in the sight of four-poster beds in red drapes, huge ceiling to floor windows open to the sight of a tributary of the lake.

He had clarified with Ron that the last time they saw each other was the night before while getting ready for bed. Harry had also noted that he had just had the most vivid and memorable dream ever. He could remember everything, the details of the scenery as if they really existed, every exchange with his companion in the dream.

 _Draco._ Harry thought that if he made it out of the dream then maybe, Draco did, too. _Only one way to find out._  

The Great Hall was as rowdy as Harry remembered it. It was alive with students rushing to grab a bite to eat. Hermione and Ron had gone ahead while he grabbed the fastest shower in history, and Harry saw them at the Gryffindor table chewing the last few slices of toast. Ron nodded to him, and he nodded back. Stealing a glance at the Slytherin table, Harry confirmed that Draco was nowhere to be seen. What if he had actually left Draco back in the dream? Harry didn’t want to entertain the thought. He could always go to the Headmistress or the Slytherin Head of House to give them the heads up as to Draco’s whereabouts. It won’t be easy to tell them the story, but Harry was sure he could convince them of its truth.

Just as Harry was sitting down, the doors of the Great Hall opened again and Draco strolled in with Blaise Zabini. Harry didn’t know that he had been holding his breath, waiting for Draco to show up. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the Slytherin sauntered in.

He had never noticed before, but Draco actually looked very commanding. The Slytherin’s appearance was immaculate as usual, from his perfectly coifed hair to his spotless and gleaming black shoes. Although it was a Saturday and there were no classes scheduled, Draco looked rather formal and well-dressed. Harry suddenly felt self-conscious in his pale blue button down shirt, washout denim trousers and high-cut white sneakers.

 _Merlin, I can’t believe I’m checking Draco Malfoy out during breakfast!_ Harry just realized that he always made it a point to note what the Slytherin was wearing before; he had believed that he was only doing so purely for academic purposes, so to speak. It had never occurred to him that he really _was_ checking the Slytherin out.

The conversations went on around him and Harry kept a half-attentive ear out. He did miss his friends. After all, he had believed he was never going to see them again. But his thoughts were more tuned to how he was going to talk to Draco now if he was even going to do that. What was he going to say? Harry supposed that now that they were back in the Waking World, there was no point trying to accost Draco about their Adventures in Dreamland. He didn’t even know if the Slytherin remembered anything.

Since the blonde boy had never once looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, the latter assumed that Draco could very well remember nothing.

 _But he promised me he wouldn’t forget._ Harry just hoped that here was a different Draco now. One who kept his promises.

Harry must have lost track of events at one point because when he did decide to stand up and leave the Gryffindor table, he was met with a commotion near the entrance to the Great Hall. Ron, Hermione, Seamus and a bunch of Slytherins were having some sort of glaring contest.

“Why don’t you, thugs, just apologize to Seamus and we can all clear out and you can go back to your Connect the Dots books?” Ron said through gritted teeth.

Crabbe and Goyle sneered maliciously and made a show of cracking their knuckles as if to say that they’d rather pummel some Gryffindors that morning than do what Ron told them to. “Irish boy here was the one who barreled into us. And besides Slytherins don’t apologize to ickle Gryffindors.” Harry didn’t notice that Draco Malfoy was included in the fray, but the blonde had made sure his presence was known.

“Oh sure, crack your knuckles. _We’re so afraid_! Your goons don’t have half a brain cell between the two of them for even the simplest motor functions, Malfoy. If you’re such a hotshot, why don’t _you_ do the honors of beating us up yourself, huh?” Seamus challenged. For all Harry knew, Seamus probably barreled into the group of departing Slytherins deliberately just to make their morning all the more interesting. The Slytherins would’ve only been too happy to take the bait. _Some things never change_ , Harry thought.

“He’s not going to fight us because he wouldn’t want to break a nail or mess up his hair,” Ron said, making a spectacle of himself by girlishly tucking stray ginger wisps of his hair behind his ear. “A brawl would crease his clothes beyond repair. Not to mention, it would _unfashionably_ make him sweat.” Some younger Gryffindors within earshot actually had the audacity to giggle.

“Oh I wouldn’t fight you, Weasley. For all I know, you’re just trying to provoke me into a brawl to have the chance to feel me up. Are you not getting enough lovin’ from your girlfriend or is she too busy feeling library books up instead?” Crabbe and Goyle apparently weren’t as stupid as Harry thought because they started chuckling as if they actually got the joke. Draco leered nastily.

“You fucking fag—” Ron’s teeth were bared and he was just about rearing to pounce.

“Ron!” Harry called, his voice even but commanding. Everyone turned to face him. Harry squarely met Draco’s flashing eyes.

Ron was huffing and puffing. “They fucking started it, Harry!”

“I don’t care who started it. I’m finishing it. You’re not brawling in front of the teachers,” he said, his voice carrying into the ears of the nearby eavesdroppers. All the time, Harry never wavered in his foray into Draco’s stormy gray eyes. He didn’t know if he was just reading Draco’s eyes wrong, but there was nothing there of the Draco he came to know in his dream. The Slytherin’s eyes were the same steely emotionless gray that he remembered from all Gryffindor-vs.-Slytherin-extravaganzas before, but there was absolutely no flash of mischief or playfulness in them that Harry remembered from all their playful banter in Dreamland.

“Maybe, Potter here is just afraid that we’d beat the shit out of you and we won’t even have points taken from our House for it,” Draco said, sneering. “The brave Gryffindors are actually afraid to fight? That’s a first.”

“Name a time you actually won any kind of fight against us. We’d be here until we’re old and gray and you won’t come up with anything. We just don’t want to stoop to your level this time, _Malfoy_.” Harry emphasized Draco’s surname with a humorless smile. He just hoped his eyes wouldn’t give him away.

Maybe it was too much to wish for, that Draco would remember or that he’d give some kind of sign that he was just playacting. Maybe the Draco that Harry had come to know… and love… was just gone. And Harry should just let it go. “Let’s just go, Ron. We have better uses for our time and our energy than this,” Harry spat, cutting through the huddle of people and bumping against Draco’s shoulder in the process.

He didn’t dare look back anymore to see if Ron had followed his lead or if Draco was even looking at him.

 _The dream is over, Harry. You’re back to how things used to be—how things_ should _be._ Harry just wished he could’ve said goodbye to Draco properly before they were rudely hauled back to reality. He would’ve wanted Draco to know how he felt after all. But Harry guessed it was a little too late now. Draco had obviously moved on, having woken up without a single recollection of what happened. _It is for the better, Harry. Maybe in time, you will be able to accept it._

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

It was a perfect day for flying. The sky was a robin’s egg blue with wisps of feather-like cirrus clouds. Mild and refreshing gusts of wind combed through the school grounds from the mountains, making the blades of grass sway and the surface of the lake ripple. The Forbidden Forest was not as dark as usual. The lake was tranquil. The Quidditch Pitch did not have its usual throngs of people on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Harry was the one who asked Ron to go flying. He sensed that the latter was upset about what happened that morning during breakfast. Ron obviously thought Harry was mental in telling them to lay-off Malfoy and his brainless lackeys. But Harry didn’t bother trying to explain himself. It was no use with Ron anyway.

It never occurred to Harry how much he had missed flying until he was doing loop-the-loops one after another in the air. Here, it had only been three days since the last time he went flying, but it felt like it had been ages because of his recent misadventures.

It was still difficult for Harry to believe that what had happened was only a protracted dream and that he didn’t even leave his bed the entire time. It was so real that there was even evidence of a healing bruise on his shoulder blade area that Ron himself noticed when Harry was changing into a sweatshirt before they went flying.

The two Gryffindors were just shouldering their broomsticks after some intense flying all over the pitch when Ron said, “I still think you should have just let us pummel Malfoy this morning.” Ron was no longer contemptuous but he was still clearly in disagreement with Harry in having let Malfoy off easily.

“That wouldn’t have changed anything. Malfoy’d still be an arrogant prick. He was just trying to goad you into doing exactly what he wanted you to do. And for what? For you to get detention or get banged up by Crabbe and Goyle or both,” Harry muttered, shifting his Firebolt from his left to his right shoulder. He absent-mindedly raked his fingers through his disheveled raven hair as they made their way to the Quidditch shed to replace their broomsticks.

“It’s just—I’ve been noticing that you don’t have that much interest in bashing Slytherins anymore. I’m just curious. Did something happen? You didn’t enter into a truce with one of them, did you? Because I sort of remember seeing you talking to a Slytherin sixth year in the library last week,” Ron asked with pursed lips.

Harry took his time, unbolting the door of the broom shed, before answering. “You mean Ian Stonehall? He just asked me for some spare parchment. That was nothing,” Harry said, swallowing a lump in his throat. He _did_ sort of enter into a truce with one of the Slytherins. It’s just that the one Harry called a truce with couldn’t remember anything about it. “Why would I even want a truce with any of the Slytherins?”

“Beats me. I mean, some of them _are_ nice. Olivia Frey—that girl who always has her hair in braids—she helped me find another one of that Herbology book I’ve been looking for since last month, the one that’s always on loan by fourth years. She was really nice,” said Ron. “And some of them were invaluable in your defeat of Voldemort. _But_ … some of them, like Malfoy—ha!—are heartless assholes!” Ron mounted his Cleansweep on a less cluttered cupboard of Ravenclaw students’ broomsticks while Harry distractedly placed his Firebolt along with school brooms in a lower ledge.

 _He wasn’t always one._ Harry knew a good-natured Draco Malfoy once. At the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wish he never did.

“Malfoy is especially repugnant with his two monkey-goons around. I wonder if he’s even half as arrogant when he’s by himself.” Ron snorted.

Harry froze just as Ron replaced the bolt on the door of the broom shed. He suddenly wanted to run and find Draco. Maybe if he could talk to Draco without any of the latter’s housemates around… _But what would that achieve? Remember how pained Draco was when you found out that he had been having dreams about you? Would you really make things difficult for him again now that he’s already forgotten his feelings for you like he had always wanted to?_

Before he could ruminate on the possible consequences of what he was about to do, Harry said, “Ron, I need to do something really important. I’ll see you later in the common room, alright?” He broke into a run before Ron could protest.

Harry rushed past students languidly lounging about in the Entrance Hall and made for the dungeons. He would wait for Draco in the hallway to the supposedly secret Slytherin dormitory entrance if need be. He was still undecided as to what he was going to say, but he needed to see Draco, if only to say goodbye and put some sort of closure so it would be unmistakable in his mind that the person who had become a part of him was gone for good.

Panting, Harry stuffed himself in an alcove in the wall along the hallway that, as far as he could recall, led to the entrance to the Slytherin common room, to wait for the blonde. Before Harry could properly catch his breath, his target appeared.

Draco was alone.

“What, no bodyguards?” Harry spoke and stepped out of the alcove.

Draco recoiled, startled. “Har—Potter! What the fuck?!”

The Gryffindor caught the slip of the tongue. Draco nearly called him by his first name! So it was possible that he actually remembered something. “We need to talk,” was all Harry said. He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Is intelligent conversation that scarce in your house, Potter?” Draco leered then rolled his eyes.

Harry shrugged, “I won’t take up much of your time, Draco. I just need to tell you something.”

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry popped out of the invisible alcove. He wanted to thump his head against the nearest wall when he almost called Harry by his first name because he hadn’t gotten over the initial shock of seeing the raven-haired boy yet. He was afraid this was going to happen. His heart had been in his throat while the confrontation during breakfast raged on. He had hoped fervently that Harry would take things at face value and just conclude that Draco remembered nothing of their dysfunctional adventure. Draco had almost gotten his wish, too. _Almost…_

“Well—since I can’t very well open the Slytherin common room with you ogling at me out here. Fine. You have five minutes. Talk fast,” Draco said, feigning irritation. He just wished he was demonstrating the emotion correctly; there was a nagging feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach that his irritation was actually cloaked with breathless anticipation.

Harry breathed a deep sigh. “I have very, very few regrets in my life. But nothing has changed between the last time we talked about this and now.” Draco narrowed his eyes. “I don’t regret what happened between you and me. It was real for me. It will _always_ be. I made you promise something that was very unfair to you. It was cruel of me to do that probably because I didn’t know better then. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now, it’s _my_ turn to make _you_ a promise. I will never forget. I will remember for both of us. Because the way I came to know you made you real to me. The way I promise to remember you will always make you real to me.

“I hope this will never make sense to you because the last thing I want to do is hurt you again. Not now; not ever. Goodbye, Draco. I wish you pleasant dreams for tonight and for always,” Harry said, fighting the acid rising from his chest that threatened to make his voice break. Harry’s head ached because he was willing himself to keep looking at Draco, to memorize the latter’s face, the color of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, everything. And at the same time, Harry wanted to look away because he was beginning to feel his eyes sting. There were still so many things he wished to say, but if he did that he might as well sit Draco down and tell the latter everything.

A tight-lipped smile shone on Harry’s lips. He hoped it wasn’t so pained-looking. Turning his back to Draco’s unmoving form, Harry began to walk away. Every step seemed like a punishment. But Harry knew he must; he must walk away without a backward glance. He had done what he had wanted to do: say goodbye. It was time to let go. It was what Draco deserved after all those months of being imprisoned unknowingly by Harry.

As he rounded the corner, it dawned on Harry that freeing Draco meant shackling himself. He was being foolishly selfless. People really do crazy things when they’re in love…

 _It’s true that you can’t choose who to love, but you can choose_ how _to love them._

Draco’s hands that were stuffed in his trouser’s front pockets were trembling as he watched Harry disappear around the corner. He could’ve called the other boy back to say that he could remember everything, that Harry shouldn’t go. But this was the real world. And the reality was Draco was a coward. He knew he couldn’t, for the life of him, be brave enough to fight for Harry. If he couldn’t do that, then he didn’t deserve Harry. So why call Harry back to tell him that Draco could remember?

He stood there for a long time before he felt steady enough to move. Leaning his back against the closest stretch of wall, Draco legs collapsed from beneath him. He tilted his head back until he could feel the cold stone wall on the back of his head.

 _“I don’t regret what happened between you and me. It was real for me. It will always be,”_ Harry had said. It was real for Draco, too. It had always been from the first time he remembered waking up from a vivid dream with Harry’s name upon his lips. He remembered panicking at the thought because in his dreams, Harry had made love to him. Harry _loved_ him; he had said so.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat, and he brought a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in recollection. _That’s how we woke up! Because Harry said he loves me!_ Draco brought his legs closer to his torso, hugged his limbs close, and propped his forehead against his knees. _So what am I going to do now?_

There were voices coming from the main hallway. No one came down that corridor unless they were heading for the hidden wall entrance into the Slytherin common room. They were unmistakably Slytherins judging from the decibel level of their laughter. Looks like his mind had been made up for him. _You can’t renege on your promise to yourself, Draco. You are no longer in Dreamland. A lot more things are riding on you being the person you’re supposed to be. That person who fell in love with Harry Potter is no more. Harry had already let you go for you to move on. Do as he did and move on._

Squaring his shoulders, Draco stood up from the stone floor just as his housemates turned the corner. Cordial greetings were exchanged. “Power in Purity.” Draco did the honors of enunciating the password. They filed into the common room. None of them stopped to glance at the quiet hallway they left behind.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, everyone!!! Thanks to everyone on the Ao3 community who'd shared this journey with me, Harry and Draco... Keep hitting that Kudos button and keep leaving comments about what you think of this story because I live for your feedback!!!
> 
> In FF.net, this was posted as the story's EPILOGUE, but seeing as this still continues and actually concludes the story set out in the previous 20 chapters, this is technically still part of that story's plot and should be better treated as the 21st and last chapter of this story.
> 
> So yeah... thanks to the regular commenters to this story as I was posting chappies--you guys know who you are... Thanks, thanks, THANKS!
> 
> If any of you, guys, are interested in some Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (of the MCU/Avengers 'verse) fanfiction, check out my story WWW.STEM.ORG also posted here on Ao3 and of course keep your eyes peeled for DENIZEN, another Drarry fanfic of mine also here on Ao3, which I am still trying to write more of as we speak.
> 
> Be seein' y'all!!!

Harry never knew anymore how he survived the week after accosting Draco in the hallway leading to the Slytherin common room. He just exerted herculean efforts to focus on schoolwork that even Hermione got suspicious at one point, thinking that Harry must have been hexed. He made sure there was always a smile on his face or that he was attentive to his friends and dedicated to schoolwork, just so others wouldn’t notice the emptiness that was surely still etched in his green eyes. When he was in the presence of his friends and housemates, he was only too happy to interact with them. But there was still the ache in his chest whenever he was alone, like there was an itch that no amount of scratching could ease.

Stealing glances at the Slytherin table and one of its occupants in particular had become commonplace whenever Harry could risk it. But instead of making him feel better regarding the choice he had made, seeing Draco back in the groove of things in his own house made a mockery of his pain. Harry, to relieve himself of the impulse to talk to Draco again, became a social flower of sorts. He would discuss schoolwork with anyone indiscriminately, going out of his way to befriend people from all houses, participating in study groups with Ravenclaws, researching with Hufflepuffs and even sharing a library table with Slytherins from lower years.

If only Harry could continue the deception after the lights were out and he was alone in bed, thinking about Draco. He slept less and less as nights went by. But he made sure Ron and Hermione didn’t know anything about his continuous lack of sleep. The last thing Harry wanted was for his best friends to try to help him again. The last time they tried didn’t exactly make Harry’s life any easier.

So after five solid days of barely thirty minutes of sleep a night, Harry took to wandering around the Hogwarts castle in his Invisibility Cloak. That first night, he went to the hallway where he last talked to Draco. He, of course, didn’t expect to find the Slytherin there. It was a good thing Harry didn’t for the corridor was as lonely and unforgiving as the last time he was there.

On the second night, he found himself in the grounds, throwing pebbles by the lakeshore. It was breathtaking, too. The stars were out in full force, and the mountains were dark blue and majestic in the moonlight. Harry had ended up nearly in tears.

The third night saw him in the Astronomy Tower—Harry’s favorite place in the entire castle. The deck opened to a 360-degree awe-inspiring view of the grounds around the castle. It was like flying, only the scenery was below his feet instead of flashing past him. His arms were wrapped around his legs, which were folded in front of him. While he had terrible memories of Professor Dumbledore’s death in this place, it couldn’t be denied that there was no place more beautiful than here.

The Gryffindor was immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open and someone come in. Someone cleared his throat, breaking the silence and Harry turned his head to see who the intruder was.

“I didn’t expect someone to be here.” It was Draco Malfoy. He was in black silk pajamas, covered by a green Slytherin sweatshirt. His blonde hair was hidden underneath the sweatshirt’s hood. “I should go,” Draco said, turning to leave.

Harry rose to his feet, taking the hem of his Invisibility Cloak. “No, I should be the one leaving. I’ve been here for hours already.” Harry got ready to throw the Cloak over his body to disappear into the night. He just wasn’t ready to deal with Draco now.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Strictly no statements, only questions,” Draco said squarely, yanking the hood off his blonde head.

Harry looked up, startled and met Draco’s eyes. It was _their_ game! There was no way Draco could’ve known it if not for the dream that they shared. _So Draco remembered! Had he known and remembered all this time?_

Draco raised his eyebrows as if in question: _Come on, Harry, do you want to play or not?_ “Did you mean it?” The Slytherin asked.

Harry turned to face the view outside and sat down on the deck again. “Meant what?” Harry fought to keep his voice steady. He wanted to scream his fucking head off at Draco. Harry had been beating and beating himself up, and it was possible that all this time, Draco had always remembered!

“Did you mean what you said that took us out of the dream?”

“What is it to you if I did or didn’t mean it?” Harry stole a glance at Draco, who was already standing beside him.

“Why did you even have to say it, if you didn’t mean it?”

“Do _you_ always mean what you say?” Harry challenged. Draco, with narrowed eyes, plopped down beside the Gryffindor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you could remember the dream?”

Draco groaned and made a show of rolling his eyes in consternation. “Why the bloody hell does that promise mean so much to you anyway?” He got it that Harry was so angry because in spite of having promised not to forget, Draco still made the Gryffindor believe that he didn’t have a single memory of the dream.

Harry’s hand closed into a tight fist, fighting to rein in his emotion. “Would I have made you promise if it was just going to be meaningless, you think?”

“But wouldn’t it be so much simpler for us to just go back to how we used to be before we were thrown into the dream?” Draco stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and shrugged.

“Why would I make you promise you’d remember if I had intended to go back to how things were before?” Harry turned his head to look at his companion. He couldn’t help but imagine that they were back in the dream again and it was just the two of them, alone in the world—there were no complications, no expectations, no reputations to uphold.

Draco’s tongue darted out his mouth and absent-mindedly licked his lips. “Is there even another reason, apart from infliction of cruel and unusual punishment, why you made me promise to remember what happened to us?”

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. “Why is it so difficult for you to believe that it’s not impossible for me to see you differently compared to how I used to see you?”

“And how is that, Harry? How do _you_ see me?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you, Draco?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t know if Draco was just being a tease or he was really that stupid as to not know how Harry felt about him.

Draco exhaled through his mouth and _tsk_ ed. “Why do you have to always speak in riddles, confusing the shit out of me? Why can’t you say it to me straight?”

“Do you think we would’ve been able to get out of the dream if I didn’t mean what I said?” Harry murmured. He had meant it—every syllable. It wasn’t just because it had finally dawned on him what needed to be done because he had really, really wanted to do it regardless of the consequences—and he didn’t mean getting out of the dream either. In fact, they could’ve remained stuck there and he’d have loved it more.

Draco was internally fighting the urge to stand up and start dancing around the room. _Harry meant it! He loves me!!!! He loves me!!!_ But the feeling of elation soon dissipated. Their situation wasn’t exactly less difficult now that Harry had _sort of_ confessed his feelings. If anything, their situation had now become a thousand times more complicated. They have so much more things to consider now that they were back in the real world. Draco couldn’t even begin to make a mental list of all of them without developing some kind of aneurysm. “So what’s going to happen now?” Draco wasn’t really expecting an answer. He just blurted it out, thinking aloud.

“How brave are you?” Harry met Draco’s eyes in the slight silvery illumination of the Astronomy Tower. Draco unabashedly looked back at him.

“Why do you think I even initiated this stupid game if I weren’t brave enough?”

“Can I ask you something really important?” Harry leaned towards him, conspiratorially.

“What?” Draco asked, leaning forward too, half-intrigued.

Harry closed the gap before he could lose his nerve and captured Draco’s lips with his. Draco momentarily forgot to breathe as Harry’s soft lips pressed against his. It was a chaste kiss with none of the animal force in the fiery kisses they had shared before they were rudely hauled back to reality. And yet, it was so much better because this time, Draco knew it was not a dream he could very well wake up from the next minute. He was really kissing Harry Potter.

The Gryffindor broke the kiss with a wistful smile and a chuckle. “You do know that you just lost, don’t you?” Draco asked, recovering quickly from being stunned by Harry’s kiss.

“I didn’t lose,” Harry confidently declared, smirking. He went back to his position of hugging his folded legs close to his chest.

Draco scoffed. “That last one wasn’t a bloody question!”

“Course it is!”

“What did it ask then?”

“‘Isn’t the real thing so much better than the fantasies?’” Harry smiled, brilliantly at his companion. He bit his lower lip as if he was suddenly ashamed of what he’s done.

Draco smiled in the way that Harry remembered from the dream. Then, he shook his head. “Uh-uh. I don’t buy it. I still say you lost,” he said.

There was companionable silence that followed. It was as if they recovered their groove when they were in the dream that they didn’t need to talk to be comfortable in each other’s company. It was a while before Harry broke the silence. “Seriously though, I asked you if you were brave because what’s ahead of us isn’t going to be easy. If you even want us to go there,” said Harry. “Because I think I don’t need to tell you my decision. You asked where we can go from here, and I know in my heart where I want us to go. But if you tell me you don’t want that path, I will completely understand.” And Harry knew he would. He just knew Draco meant so much to him that if Draco wanted him to, Harry would let go.

“I know it’s not going to be easy,” Draco began. “Nothing ever is. We… could’ve just been locked in a cool, fully-furnished room with a month’s worth of supplies to give us a chance for some serious getting-to-know-you. Instead, we had to trek through Merlin-could-only-guess-where, half-starved most of the time, dead on our feet, getting injured nearly every fucking time. No, nothing is ever easy for both of us.” Draco realized he was tired. He was tired of trying to tell himself that life would be better if Harry Potter weren’t a part of it. He was sick of denying what he really felt just to maintain status quo. He made a decision. “I’ve been staying away from you for so long and I hated every second of that time. I can’t stay away from you anymore, Harry. I’m willing to try if you are.”

Harry unclasped his hands and reached out for Draco. The latter took the proffered hand and entwined their fingers together. They just stayed like that. Wordlessly. They didn’t need words, exchange of promises or plans for the future. They just needed each other—the touch of each other—and everything else would follow.

“Argentine,” Draco exclaimed. “Her name was Argentine.”

Harry looked at the blonde, curiously.

“My nanny, remember? The one who told me to wish on falling stars. It just occurred to me a couple of days ago. I wanted so much to talk to you then, to tell you that I remembered. But I didn’t think it was a good idea.” Draco hung his head, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I’ve always remembered, Harry—everything that happened to us, every talk we ever had in the dream. The moment I woke up I could recall everything, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know what could come out of it. That time we talked, I wanted to tell you that I kept my promise, but I was scared. I told myself, you deserved someone better. Someone who’d fight for you, someone brave enough to always be beside you, to always tell you the truth. And I wasn’t that person,” Draco explained.

“And then I remembered what I was like when I was with you. I was a better man then. I was someone who could be brave enough, who could be selfless, who could be loving and kind and witty. I could be someone… worthy of you. It was you who made me realize I _could_ be someone other than who I’ve always thought I was.” Draco brought their clasped hands on his lap and sandwiched Harry’s within both of his.

“I think you should look for her—Argentine. She would want to see the young man you’ve become. And I know she will tell you that you actually turned out to be quite… amazing,” Harry said, he brought his other hand to Draco’s chin and pinched.

Draco breathed a contented sigh and deigned to look around. “I never noticed before, but it really is nice up here. Didn’t you promise you’d take me here?”

Harry fingered a strand of Draco’s hair off his eyes and chortled. “I did, didn’t I? I went here tonight, thinking about that promise I made you. I thought I’d never be able to make good on that one.” It seemed like they had finally come full circle. After everything that happened, they were there together, fulfilling promises and fantasies they once thought had no place in the real world.

“I remembered what you said. I wanted to see for myself, the one place that you find beautiful, the one place that might come close to the one in our dream. And it _is_ beautiful. No offense meant, I know you’re a big fan of this place, _but_ … I think our summit is still a thousand times more beautiful,” Draco commented. “I know it’s not a real place. It’s just a figment of our imagination, but it was fucking breathtaking there.” Draco stared off into space as if imagining himself back in the summit.

The Tower filled with Harry’s good-natured laughter. “You know what—I think I have to agree with you! I kind of miss the summit—and Pegasus and eating berries for breakfast and riding bareback…”

“Holy Merlin, yeah—Pegasus,” Draco paused, a smile playing on his lips, remembering their noble steed. “Listen to us, huh? Reminiscing things that technically didn’t really happen.”

Scattered tittering filled the Tower as they recalled their little misadventures. All the time, their hands were entwined.  “Hey—since we’re comparing the Astronomy Tower with our summit, I just remembered that you didn’t quite answer my last question,” Harry spoke with a playful grin.

“What question?”

“Is the real thing better?” Harry brought his forehead and pressed it against Draco’s own.

“I don’t know. Maybe you need to convince me more,” Draco replied, raising his eyebrows in invitation. Their lips met again in a less chaste and more certain manner. Draco could remember kissing like this, but he didn’t feel this kind of passion and devouring need last time. Harry’s lips were soft and warm, and his hand on Draco’s jaw felt like velvet. Harry’s other hand sandwiched between both of Draco’s on the latter’s lap fit so perfectly in Draco’s hold as if it had never belonged anywhere else.

Draco tore his lips away from Harry’s and asked, suddenly, “there’s just something I’ve been wondering about ever since I found out about it.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked, bringing their clasped hands from Draco’s lap to his and adding his other hand in the tangle of fingers.

“Why have you been having dreams about me? I mean, _I_ know why I’ve been having dreams about you, but you didn’t buy the Dreamcatcher for those Draco-infested dreams, did you? I remember you telling me you bought one because of your Dark Lord-filled nightmares. So when did dreams about me enter the picture, really?” Draco bent his head to the side like a curious cat and scooted even closer to Harry.

“You know what—I really don’t know! I just suddenly had them. Thrice in a row! It freaked me out big time. But Hermione did say something about dreams and nightmares before. She said that dreams are manifestations of our worst fears or our greatest desires—fears or desires that we may not always be aware of that we have. The Dreamcatcher was a device to filter our fears out of our subconscious so we won’t have terrible nightmares,” Harry patiently explained and Draco patiently listened. “When the Dreamcatcher malfunctioned—mind you, I don’t know exactly when that happened—it somehow stopped filtering things from my deeper subconscious to keep it from manifesting themselves in my dreams. Maybe that’s when I started dreaming about you. You’ve always been there; it’s just that—I never consciously thought it.”

“And the fact that we have similar dreams? That stumps me until now,” Draco wondered.

“Maybe my Dreamcatcher just became more attuned to the dreams your Banisher threw around and since I had a similar thought in my unconscious, the Dreamcatcher just caught your own banished dreams and melded it with my own muddled unconscious thoughts and assumed your dreams’ form.”

I’m just making wild guesses, though, because when it comes right down to it—I really don’t care anymore why or when I started dreaming about you. I’m just glad I did. Otherwise, we never would have been thrown into the same dream and well—this never happened,” Harry said, stealing a quick peck on the side of Draco’s neck.

“Hmmm,” Draco murmured in agreement as they shared a searing kiss again. They couldn’t get enough of it. The kiss slowly evolved to a more possessive, more feverish pace. They had the Astronomy Tower to themselves. Of course, they were thinking it…

Harry, quick as lightning, straddled Draco and attacked the latter’s neck with teasing kisses. “Was it any good?”

“Was what any good?” Draco asked. He let Harry take his sweatshirt off over his blonde head.

“ _You know_ ,” Harry murmured, combing his fingers through Draco’s hair, which was thankfully not sporting its usual gelled ‘do. The Gryffindor started trailing kisses on the side of Draco’s face, on his jaw, on the nape of his neck.

Draco felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up his neck. _Was it any good, he asks. I came didn’t I? Quite loudly, too!_ “I don’t think that counts. We didn’t even leave our beds that night. Nothing physical happened,” Draco baited. “We have never done this before, _strictly speaking_.”

Harry snuck his hands under Draco’s pajama top and tickled the blonde’s sides. “I was under the impression that since both of us could remember what we did then _something_ happened,” he said, nuzzling Draco hair. “Oh well, it’s probably for the better. You do have a lot to make up for after all.”

Draco was nipping at Harry’s earlobe, when he stopped and retorted, “what?! What for? What did I do?!”

“You only made me believe that you couldn’t remember anything that happened. You should know, I was _devastated_ , Draco. I haven’t slept for more than one hour for the past week! Don’t think I’ve already forgiven you for that,” Harry said, sneering at the pout blooming on Draco’s lips.

The Slytherin wrapped his arms around Harry and, with his quick reflexes, rolled over to the left, so that instead of Harry straddling him, their positions were reversed. Draco was on top of Harry and sprawled between the Gryffindor’s legs. “I thought I already explained that I only did that because I thought I was doing both of us a favor,” Draco defended.

“Maybe what you need to do is to start making up for your blunder right now,” Harry dared. He craned his neck and met Draco’s lips in another kiss. It looked as if Harry was hell bent on proving to Draco that the real thing was indeed without compare.

While they were busy kissing, Draco took to frantically unbuttoning Harry’s pajama top and Harry languidly grazed Draco’s back from the waistline upwards, bringing the hem of Draco’s pajama top close to the shoulders so it could easily be slipped off through the head. Draco licked from the dip in Harry’s collar to his throat before whispering. “If we get caught, it’s going to be interesting enough to see you explain your way out of it.”

Harry yanked Draco’s hair and brought his lips close to the shell of Draco’s ear. “I’m just going to tell them to _fuck off_ while I show this hot blonde I’m with, that nothing beats the real thing,” he murmured in reply.

“Git.” Draco tugged Harry’s top off and threw it aside.

“Wanker.” Harry got Draco’s pajama top off through the head.

“Tosser.” Draco pushed Harry flat against the viewing deck floor.

“Prick.” Harry pulled Draco by the back of the latter’s neck for a kiss.

“Are we going to put the Astronomy Tower to good use or what?” Draco throatily mumbled in between devouring Harry’s lips and tongue. Tomorrow was going to be the greatest test of the rest of their lives. But before tomorrow, there was tonight.

###END###


End file.
